


All Tied Up And No Place To Go

by WeirdAlterEgo



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Coercion, Unreliable Narrator, unbetaed hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: Tim used to think of saying no. Back when they started. To ask Kon for help, or to beg Bart to sprint him to safety. But Tim knows there is no escape. Not from Jason Todd. After all, he did break into Titans tower to beat Tim half to death before.So he says yes, like he always does. “I have time after patrol,” he says in a quiet, measured tone. He doesn’t think he would be able to make himself finish patrolling after that. Best to hope he gets murdered by a stray bullet or the Joker first, right?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 162
Kudos: 278





	1. Tim

**Author's Note:**

> Guys... fair warning: I've been marathoning Black Mirror, and also have a migraine so 
> 
> 1.) first chapter is gonna be dark (nearing Dead Dove levels)  
> 2.) I hope this makes sense, because ouch.  
> 3.) thanks to Noblehunter for the title. you guys lucked out, I suck at titles, unless it's cracky.
> 
> I'm sorry for not working on my already existing series, but... uh. I'm a horrible person. Sorry. :(

“Hey, baby bird, are you busy tonight?”

Tim swallows convulsively when he hears _that_ voice over the comms. His panicked eyes sweep the Gotham skyline for movement, but he can't spot anybody near him. Jason is using a private line, as always. He is very careful never to let the other bats know.

Tim used to think of saying no. Back when they started. To ask Kon for help, or to beg Bart to sprint him to safety. But Tim knows there is no escape. Not from _Jason Todd_. After all, he did break into Titans tower to beat Tim half to death before.

So he says yes, like he always does. “I have time after patrol,” he says in a quiet, measured tone. He doesn’t think he would be able to make himself finish patrolling after _that_. Best to hope he gets murdered by a stray bullet or the Joker first, right?

“I’ll be over then,” the growl promises, and Tim has just enough time to make it to a less visible part of the top of… whatever building he’s landed on before he vomits the two cups of coffee and few bites of a sandwich he’s had today.

***

It started months ago.

When half the family was held captive by some insane cult, trying to rouse a monster slumbering deep under Gotham, and succeeding, Barbara had resorted to calling in the big guns. Namely: the Red Hood, who was still barely bat-adjacent, grudgingly allowed to orbit around the sidelines as far as Bruce was concerned.

Jason crashed the party like a one-man army, guns blazing, felling cultists and smaller versions of the big thing rising from its slumber. He ran interference while Bruce broke out Dick and then Damian, screaming for Jason to free Tim before it was too late.

Tim had a front row seat, tied up to one of the sacrificial posts as he was, to the monster emerging from under heaps of detritus, causing irreparable structural damage to the nearby factory buildings with every lumbering movement aimed to break free of the ground below them. Tim was rooted to the spot, gawking in horror at the pinkish, hulking mass of a tendril (tentacle?) with too many eyes. They roiled and blinked and tried to fix on anything moving. Some were staring _straight_ at Tim.

“So. Timbo,” said Jason while he fiddled with Tim’s ties instead of sawing at them, while Tim was struggling in absolute, brick-shitting panic. “I was thinking…”

“What?!” Tim stared up at the man, uncomprehending.

“Well, there’s been this… tension between us.” Jason said, dropping his hands with a sigh. Tim wanted to scream in terror as more eyes focused on them, the beast struggling relentlessly below.

“Tension?!” There was a tension all right, a crapton in fact, but there would be less if Jason would just _hurry the hell up!_

“Look,” Jason said, the helmet hiding his face, his expression. His hands smoothed down Tim’s arms instead of freeing him. Again. _Why?!_ Tim was still struggling, terrified, but the man just kept on _chatting!!_ “Just… I know we started on the wrong foot, but… I think you are hot. And I get it if you are not into me …”

Tim wanted to scream. There were more tendrils breaking out of the ground, more eyes staring at them, locking him and Jason in their sights, and the Red Hood was _still not freeing Tim_.

“Jason!” he shrieked, terrified as a tendril made a swipe at them, but was luckily still too far away to reach.

But still more eyes focused on Tim. More pink, fleshy things shot up from below the ground. Making less time for their escape.

“Look, I want to fuck this out.” Jason told Tim, with his body curled over him, tall, hulking and menacing. Still not having freed Tim. The pink fleshy things dotted with eyes struggled ever closer.

Tim stared up at the man mutely. He must have suffered a hit to the head. Possibly multiple ones. There was no other explanation. None.

“I mean…” Jason went on. _Still not freeing Tim_. Instead, he drew _back_. “But if you say no… I get it. I mean if you say no I’ll just leave-”

 _Roar,_ went the thing.

Tim froze in the sights of hundreds of eyes.

Was this…

Did he…

Would he really…?

 _No._ Not _Jason_.

“You would leave me here?” He asked Jason in a small voice, or tried to. The roar of the thing was deafening, so he had to yell. “Would you _really_ _leave me?!_ ”

Roar, went the thing behind them again.

“Yes!” Jason yelled back, head whipping around to stare at the thing. “ _Oh shit!_ ”

Tim swallowed.

If… if this was real, if he didn’t misunderstand… Which, frankly... maybe he did? He probably did? There... there must be some sort of explanation, right?

But if not... He could _do_ this. He let Ra’s al Ghul into his head to save Bruce. He could let Jason into… he could let Jason do… whatever he wanted with Tim’s body to save himself. It was a small price to pay. Maybe… maybe they could… maybe he could talk Jason out of this madness later?

“Fine, yes!” Tim yelled, struggling harder. “Just please let’s get out of here before that thing eats us alive!!”

“Yeah, on it!” Jason said whipping around, cutting and snapping the ropes holding Tim captive none too gently. Then he simply picked Tim bodily up like he weighed _nothing_ and ran like the hounds of hell were on their tail instead of beady little eyes staring as the distance between them and the fleshy tendrils shooting out from below the ground grew exponentially.

***

Tim honestly thought Jason didn’t mean it, or if he did, he’d drop it in the light of day. It was unfathomable, to… threaten Tim to have sex with him. The man who was so against rapists he killed one when he was a kid, had continued killing them as an adult… was threatening Tim with gruesome death and injury if he dared to refuse? That made no sense whatsoever.

It went against everything Jason stood for.

And yet…

Every time he talked with Tim, he _hinted_. Insinuated. Alluded.

Sentences like “you’re so delicate, why, I could just crush you without trying” and "yet none of your super friends came to help you when you were screaming for help" dropped in the cave before and during debriefing with Bruce gained a new meaning. Nobody but Tim picked up on it.

It was insidious. Tim was reminded, over and over again of the times Jason Todd had beaten him bloody, slit his throat, and pierced his chest. All those times when Tim almost died by the hands of the previous Robin, and only escaped because Jason never felt like finishing the deed.

And worse, he could, with all the tech and synthetic Kryptonite, finish Tim’s friends, too. That one he didn’t need to say. Tim knew quite well the arsenal Jason Todd had amassed since he turned up in Gotham again. They all did. Bruce kept updating the batcomputer about it weekly. The threat level rose with each addition.

Tim _knew_.

And last but not least… there were the _leers_. Tim was… It was disconcerting. It felt like a proprietary hand on the back of his neck. Like the voice of Ra’s crooning in his ears. It felt like a declaration, like a layer of muck or slime oozing down his body, something he couldn't ever wipe off, making him feel unclean.

So when Tim made the executive decision to retreat and Jason waved at him with a jovial “I know where to find you”, namely Titans tower, where the last time he visited, he beat Tim near to death, Tim was sure, that he didn’t misunderstand. It was what he thought it was.

Jason Todd made him an offer Tim couldn’t refuse.

That night (or more like early morning) he slid away from his friends wordlessly to hole out in his Nest and regroup.

He made plans. _Contingencies._ He made a will. He pre-wrote texts of warning on a timer that would be sent out in case of his death – in case he failed to cancel them.

And then he slept and hoped… _still hoped_ that this would all go away.

***

It didn’t.

Over the next few days came the _flirting_. Jason made sure to only use a separate private channel from the other bats to torment Tim. It was utterly _filthy_. Tim was both distraught and relieved that Bruce and Barbara couldn’t hear it.

And among the chatter, peppering the flirting and innuendo, Jason made him aware yet again that he could take Tim down again if he so wished. With a single hand. "You're so small I could crush you" featured heavily among his comments and it never failed to make Tim's blood boil. Because he knew Jason was stronger, better, harder to stop than “delicate little Tim”, no matter how much Tim worked out. It irked him something terrible, that no matter what, he could not win over Jason Todd in pure strength.

That is, if Tim said no.

So... he couldn't. And he already said yes. Because apparently Jason Todd was like a perverted vampire, needing to be said yes to before he could... do whatever he wanted with Tim. To Tim. And now he wouldn't let Tim back out now. He had to see this through.

This was madness.

***

The call, _that call_ , came too soon.

“Yo, Timmers, you busy tonight?”

Tim froze, still in his office. The grip he had on a folder loosening, papers flopped all over his desk as he tried to make his mouth work.

“No.” He said eventually, wished hopelessly that it was a call for assistance and not for anything else.

“Oh. Cool. So I have been thinking…” Jason stopped, cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice sounded lower. Huskier. “That we could... finally do the deed.”

_Oh no._

"Fine."

Tim swallowed down the sudden bile rising in his throat. He refused to puke into his trashcan. People would raise a fuss.

“Awesome! So I have a thing after ten, but I could swing by your place now,” Jason offered, excitement clear in his voice, “or you could come over? I’m fine with either.”

Good. Having a time limit made Tim feel a tiny bit better about things. He weighed the cons and pros about feeling safer in his own space to not having his safe space defiled by horrible memories…

“If you send me the address I can be over in about half an hour, I’m still at WE.” He offered in the end. However much he would feel safer in his Nest, he didn’t want it… _tainted_ forever with _that_ memory. It would be much preferable to hole up in his own safe bubble and forget _that_ even happened.

“Are you sure? Do you need to finish? We can reschedule…”

“No.” Tim wanted this over and done with. “Now is good. I’ll be there.”

“Awesome!” Jason’s voice sounded carefree and excited.

Tim wanted to puke.

Instead he clenched his teeth, wrote down the address on a post-it, and stuck it on his desk under his folder. If he went missing and they came looking for him, at least the crumbs would lead back to Jason.

***

He was over in 20 minutes.

Jason let him in. He was pink-cheeked and freshly showered, hair curling where moisture still clung to it, feet bare on the hardwood floor.

"You're a bit early," he said with a smile. "Hope you don't mind a bit of clutter, I didn't have enough time to clear it all up!" while he gave Tim a once-over. He was eager, excited to pull Tim in and crowd him against the front door as soon as he was through.

Tim’s back hit the thick wood, the doorjamb bumping against his spine before he shimmied away. The next second, before he could collect himself, Jason was there, boxing him in, flattening him against the door as he stuck his nose into Tim’s rat’s nest of a hair, taking a great whiff before he moved lower. He pulled Tim’s tie undone, snapped the first two buttons to get at his neck and kissed Tim over…

… _he kissed the scar he made on Tim’s neck years ago._

When they first met. When Tim was still Robin. The Replacement, Jason Todd’s personal punching bag.

Tim flinched instinctively, and Jason drew back. His eyes were deceptively gentle as he gazed down at Tim. As if he were a caring boyfriend instead of… what he really was.

His voice was a mockery of tenderness. “I’m sorry, Timmers. Is it still… sensitive?”

Tim shrugged and looked away, and took in the rest of the flat. The room was big and sparsely decorated. The bed was well made, the table full of knickknacks and guns, bottles of energy drinks and gun cleaning equipment. There was a TV and gaming consoles, controllers and headsets haphazardly kicked to a corner. The curtains were pulled together, the lamp overhead the only source of light.

So they were really doing this.

"It's fine." Tim squared his shoulders and began to undress. He could do this. He was strong. This was _nothing_.

He threw his jacket over the lone chair next to the table, his shirt following it. He didn’t care to fold it, doubted he could ever stomach wearing it again. It was going into the incinerator as soon as he got back to his Nest. He toed off his socks and shucked off his pants.He was about to remove his briefs when strong hands laid over his and stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey, whoa Timbo, I get that you are excited, but leave something for me too, huh?”

Tim froze. Nausea threatened to rear its head again as he felt bile rising from the pit of his stomach, but he swallowed it down. He was determined to see this through. One fuck, and it’d be done.

“What then?” he asked Jason.

He was turned around gently. Tim tried not to look, but an insistent finger under his chin tilted his face up, so their eyes could lock. Jason smiled at him, as if to reward a pet for good behavior.

“Let me look at you, baby bird,” Jason crooned. “You’re all grown up. Let me appreciate you like you deserve.”

Tim stood there, almost naked, displayed in the room for Jason to gawk at. He swallowed again. Let the young man smooth a hand down his chest until it rested over his left pectoral.

“You are so pretty, baby bird. So beautiful. So _delicate_.” A hand slid up to grace his face with calloused fingertips, and Tim shivered. It felt almost… caring. Loving. But it _wasn’t_. “So _breakable_. I can’t believe how many times I’ve almost snuffed out your flame. If only I knew what I know now. How beautiful you are, how wonderful…”

Tim broke out of the hold and turned away. He couldn’t. It was too much. “Please…” he whispered. “ _Don’t!_ ”

The silence was deafening.

“Yeah ok…” Jason finally said. “Do you want… uh… bed? Or…”

Tim didn’t let him finish. He marched to the bed at top speed before Jason could try this… mockery of gentleness again. Before Tim himself could lose his nerve.

He flopped over the covers face down and waited.

He heard the man padding over to the bed, then stop. “Uh… Tim? You mind turning over?”

He took a fortifying breath and did so. Trust Jason to make this as humiliating for Tim as possible. He should have known it wouldn’t just be a simple fuck. The Red Hood had to make his superiority over Tim be known.

“There you are,” Jason cooed again, shucking his own shirt, muscles bunching and bulging.

Tim swallowed. Jason was undeniably handsome. All the people he knew in the vigilante community were hot, but Jason… if he weren’t Jason, Tim would have… appreciated him. His body, his attention. But not like this.

“Scoot back a bit, will you, Timmy. Give me some space to work my magic.”

Tim did. He scooted back, away from the hulking mass of a man until the wall stopped him. He watched as Jason kicked his jeans off and away to the wall in a fluid movement that should have been off-putting, but from Jason looked almost graceful. Fluid. Sexy.

He had to bite down on his tongue to stop feeling things. Good and bad both. They were confusing his terrified brain. He needed his mindspace to survive this.

He watched in terror as Jason put a knee on the bed, the mattress dipping below his weight before he fell on all fours to crawl towards Tim, muscles bunching in the pale light of the lamp, fluid and dangerous like a big cat.

Tim whimpered as a large hand landed on his hip. A second later another joined it. And then they grabbed the hem of his boxers and began to pull it down, inching it lower and lower, until Tim’s flaccid cock was exposed.

“Raise your hips a little, baby bird,” Jason murmured when Tim got dragged along too, and Tim did obediently, shivering as those warm, large hands caught one foot and bent it through the material, a smooth cheek rubbing his calf as his ankle was kissed. The process was repeated with his other foot, and his briefs sailed across the room towards the chair – missing it – before Jason turned back to him.

Tim couldn’t turn away. He felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. His gaze was locked on Jason’s as the young man leaned down and his hot mouth engulfed Tim’s flaccid penis. The heat was unimaginable. It seared Tim like a brand. It was moist and slick and tight and he wanted…

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to not respond to it, but he failed. It felt good. It felt amazing, and he hated it. He rose inside Jason Todd’s mouth in seconds to his utter shame. Their gazes held. Jason’s triumphant, Tim’s horrified.

There, Tim’s last act of defiance frizzled out before it could be utilized, for Jason Todd made him hard, and made Tim _like it_.

He flopped back as much as he could, staring at the ceiling while he was expertly sucked off by a man who was supposed to just take his body and throw him out onto the street, humiliated. Or perhaps the humiliation was that Tim liked it? Was Jason more into complicity? Did he want Tim to want more, only to be denied?

He whimpered as he felt teeth gently graze up the head as the man pulled off his dick with a wet pop and he cried out, choking on the sound as soon as he realized what he was doing. How humiliating. How could he want it this much?!

“It’s all right, baby bird, I’ll be back, I promise!” he heard before the bedsheets were pulled askew and the heat of that hulking body disappeared from over his legs.

There was shuffling before Jason rolled back, spreading Tim’s legs apart and sucking his cold dick down again into that inferno. Tim whined, letting go of all restraints as he fucked up inside that heavenly heat. And then he felt something nudging behind his balls.

He clenched his teeth down as a slick, thick finger spread his cheeks and nudged against his hole, rubbing gently but insistently until he loosened his muscles and it slid in, stretching him. He was aware he made noises. Humiliating noises. Pitiful little whimpers and wanton cries as he was spread and sucked, bouncing between unearthly pleasure and burning pain as a second and third finger joined the first up his ass. He whimpered and moaned as he was rubbed from the inside and licked from the outside, until it all suddenly stopped.

His cock pumped into cool air and his hole gaped open, both needy and waiting more of Jason Todd. He wanted to bury his head under a pillow or disappear under the bed as soon as his head begun to clear up.

This was Jason. He was with Jason. He was begging Jason to fuck him just seconds earlier.

Well. It was probably better this way, anyway.

“There, Timbo, wanna turn around?” Jason asked as he wiped his face with a tissue. His smile was radiating with smugness. Tim wanted to kick it in with a burning passion. Jason squinted at him. “I mean… you don’t have to but you are awfully tight and it’ll probably feel better from that angle?”

“Sure.” Tim wasted no time turning around. At least he didn’t have to see. That was good, right?

His erection bobbed as he rolled over, Jason’s cooling spit making him shiver. Or possibly it was the disgust. But it was almost over. They were almost over.

Just a little more and he was free, he told himself.

He got up on his hands and knees and waited. Trust Jason Todd to find the most humiliating position to have Tim in. Tim exposed to the world and unable to escape.

He couldn't help but moan the second Jason's burly body curled around him. He was a wall of heat, scorching Tim's skin wherever they touched. His huge palm seared Tim's hip as he was held in place before...

Jason was huge. Everywhere. Tim couldn't help but cry out as the head of Jason's erection bumped and ground against his hole and begun to breach him. It was... was there a better words than big? Hulking? Gargantuan? Enormous? It was... it was big. Too big. Tim wanted to beg, to ask for some more time, more prep, but he couldn't. He closed his eyes, tried to tune out everything but the feeling of that insistent nudging and tried to loosen up his lower half, to ease the way...

It was slow going. Jason's murmured encouragements weren't helping, either. Every time he told Tim to relax the urge to tear away and escape intensified and he had to concentrate to loosen back up again. But at least Jason was patient and waited Tim out. He stopped more than once, letting Tim regroup before the intrusion begun anew.

Until Jason's full length was finally buried inside Tim, and Jason stopped. Tim could feel Jason breathing hard against the back of his neck, muscles straining but not moving. Tim was unspeakably glad for the small reprieve. He tried to go back on concentrating on his breathing and relaxing his muscles, adjusting for something this big up inside him before Jason began to move.

"You all right, baby bird?" Jason's voice puffed against the shell of his ear.

Tim nodded. It felt... it was better. In increments he adjusted. He was still full, so full, but at least it felt almost... good. And Jason was kind enough and patient enough not to move, which... was a small mercy at least.

"You're so tight, baby bird," Jason moaned before he pulled out and thrust in slowly.

Tim choked. It was... He was so full. It rubbed him... Jason's cock rubbed against his prostate with a constant, overwhelming pressure. It was... it felt so good. He wanted to hate it, but he couldn't.

The hands holding his hips tight were two points of searing, maddening heat and the pressure, the constant rubbing inside him, against his sweet spot was making it impossible to concentrate on anything but the pleasure, the pleasure Jason was forcing on him. The man fucked him, slow and gentle like a lover. Like Tim was someone precious and marvelous.

Kisses landed against Tim's nape, fervent ones with little more than a puff of breath and his name. Fingers, strong and calloused wrapped around his cock to pull him off. The speed with which Jason thrust inside him increased, the bed shaking with it. He sobbed as he felt himself nearing completion, as he dangled suspended on the precipice before a thrust pushed him over.

"That was so good, Timmy, you are amazing. ! You are _so_ amazing, baby bat!" Jason whimpered as his speed picked up, and then Tim felt as the man jerked and stopped after a few hard thrusts, and flopped over Tim for a few seconds before he righted himself.

Tim waited patiently for Jason to pull out of him, wincing when his sensitive rim was pulled tight, and then it was out. Jason was out of his body. It was done.

They were done.

He turned towards the side to get off the bed, but a warm hand landing on the small of his backs stopped him.

"Oh, hey, no, let me!" Jason said before the hand was gone again. Tim could hear shuffling before his cheeks were unceremoniously peeled apart and Tim was wiped down gently, though even that felt... uncomfortable.

Tim waited anxiously to be allowed to leave the bad. Jason's bed. The bed Jason Todd fucked him on. He felt nausea threatening from the pit of his stomach, but he concentrated on his breathing until it subsided. Until the hand on his ass withdrew.

Until Jason cooed "there. That's better, right?"

Tim, finally unhindered, climbed off the bed. His clothes were his lifeline. Once put them on, he was free.

He bent down to grab his briefs and pulled them on. When he straightened up, Jason was there, next to him, giving him a small... almost... shy smile. It was so at odds with what happened, how it all happened, Tim stood there, frozen in shock, just staring back.

"So..." Jason said hesitantly, still smiling like... like nothing untoward happened. "It was good, right? You liked it?"

Tim sighed. Did he really have to... Was Jason really expecting... Right. Of course.

The Red Hood did like his ego.

"It was good," he told Jason and watched that smile bloom all over his face. Tim almost felt like smiling back before he hesitantly reached for his clothes hanging on the chair. He wasn't stopped, so he went on dressing.

"Yeah that's... that's good then," Jason went on, still only in his red briefs. They were red. Tim swallowed as he eyed the trail leading down to what it was hiding. What was inside him mere minutes before.

A scarred, broad hand entered his vision to scratch at the very well defined abs. Horrified at having caught himself been staring, Tim looked back to his undone buttons. Almost done. He was almost done and out.

So of course it was too to be true.

He was putting his shoes back on when Jason spoke.

"So... I won't be around for a few weeks, but I'll call you later, all right?"

Tim stumbled, and Jason was there, righting him with big, strong hands and proprietary touches before he himself could. Tim stared up at the man mutely. He tried to make make himself speak but couldn't find his voice. No words would come.

_Why?_

"Careful, Timbo. We wouldn't want that pretty face - or that brain for that matter - damaged, now would we?" the man said, leering.

Tim swallowed and nodded, clenching his teeth.

"Can I... can I go now?" he asked hesitantly, when no other comment was coming.

Jason's smirk fell off his face.

"Sure you can, if you want. I mean we could make a date out of it, watch something romantic, I could cook you something real quick?..."

As if. Tim could barely wrangle the hysterical laughter fighting to emerge. He could just imagine taking the other man up on the offer. The second Robin would laugh Tim right out onto the street, disheveled and shoeless.

"I'd like to just leave now. You mentioned you would be busy soon?" he prompts while he slips his other shoe on. Jason, in his periphery, nods.

"Right. You're right. I should probably... get on that. Do you need a lift, or...?"

"I'm fine, thank you," it slips out before Tim can rein it back in. He did _not_ want to thank Jason Todd tonight for anything. Damn it. It was a testament to his mental state that he was slipping this much. "I'd rather just... go now."

"Sure, of course," Jason nods and pads over the open the door. "It was... it was really great. Thanks, Tim. It was really... good. Can't wait for the next time." And he winked.

Tim nodded, praying for all things holy that he could rain in the bile until he was on the street and far away. Showing just how rattled he was from this... from what Jason did to him... he just couldn't.

He suffered a quick peck on the lips before he was thankfully out and away, speeding his steps up until he was beating the Olympic speedwalking time before he was far enough that he could let himself do what he had been wanting to do since that call came.

He vomited up the contents of his stomach until he was dry-heaving and empty.

He stayed there, pressed up against hard concrete as he wiped his mouth with a tissue. Just another drunk office worker in the Bowery. Nothing to see here, move along.

He waited until the nausea passed before he begun moving again to find his car in a well-lit parking lot, to make his way home. To hole away in his Nest. To pretend this wasn't happening.

Jason said he had a few weeks.

***

He did. But what those few weeks showed Tim was that Jason was too clever, too powerful and had access to too many deadly things to say no to, so when he called, Tim came. And Tim _came_ , every time.

Jason was good. He was big, but he knew how to get Tim ready and geared up to enjoy it, even though he made his very best to try not to. To get it over with as fast as possible. Jason seemed to treat it as some sort of game or one-upmanship, making Tim come every single time, sometimes more than once.

And Tim...

The sex was good. But the constant strain, to make himself available any time Jason Todd so much as crooked his fingers at him... it put an extra strain on Tim he couldn't bear. He knew he was drinking more coffee, more energy drinks, that his eating habits deteriorated, but he simply couldn't handle it. He was a mess, and he didn't know how to fix this.

All he knew was... he didn't have the option to say no to Jason Todd.


	2. Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two sides to every coin. (at least)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I love you all!
> 
> I'm sorry for not replying to all of your comments!! I besides being knocked out on the good migraine pills (Thanks, Darcy the Storm), I also didn't want to give anything away! But boy, all your comments were loved and appreciated, thank you!!
> 
> You are amazing and thank you all!
> 
> Also please forgive me all the typos, I was trying to write this fast... perhaps too fast. Comments are very welcome, even if they are about typos! :)

Something's wrong.

They've been together for months and yet Tim never spends the night. Jason knows Tim is busy, he's seen firsthand the media shitstorms the younger man has to deal with, as well as company meetings and party appearances. Jason knows these are all things Tim is obligated to do, but _still_.

It's really hard not to pout when Tim brushes him off to run back to work or patrol. He _knows_ Tim is a busy man, but... Jason would still like a cuddle after. Or just to eat a meal together. It hasn't escaped his notice that Tim is getting thinner every time they meet up. He had tried to ply him with food, cajole a lazy afternoon out of the third Robin, but so far no dice.

Tim always leaves right after, giving Jason a single peck on parting.

At least the sex is good. Phenomenal, in fact. Even if Tim only ever bottoms.

Well, not like he asked... well all right, Jason _did_ ask that one time, but his "so could you be on top now?" was met with Tim riding him furiously to one hell of an orgasm, and not fucking Jason through the mattress, like he hoped. It was still good though. Spectacular. Just...

Jason likes to switch, all right? He likes to get fucked just as much as he likes giving it. And he likes to cuddle, dammit! He is man enough to admit that he likes to be the little spoon sometimes! He loves to watch romantic movies snuggled together under a blanket and cook for the people he likes. He even breaks out some of Alfred's recipes if he feels like being really fancy or desperate to woo.

But Tim never lets him do any of those things, and that makes Jason feel a little... useless.

Jason likes to woo. He _loves_ to woo. He is awesome at wooing, if he says so himself. Plus, it's part of the fun. But Tim never lets Jason close enough to do it. Even though Jason really wants to woo Tim.

Jason knows Tim is reserved. They _all_ know that. Tim likes to hide in his own head, Dick himself has told Jason that. Hell, Jason has known that going in, but...

But he does come, without fail, whenever Jason's in town. Just one call from Jason, and Tim flies into his arms, and that's... Yeah that's something. It makes Jason feel warm just thinking about it. He, Jason Todd, asshole extraordinaire, is the only thing tight-laced, overworked Tim Drake will drop anything for. It's one hell of an ego boost, it is.

But he still can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong with Tim.

That is why he is sitting on top of the WE building right now, waiting.

The only signal is the flutter of a cape that sounds like tiny leathery wings. He looks over to the furthest corner, where the shadow has gained a set of pointy ears. He waves.

"Thanks for coming, old man."

"Hood. What was so important you couldn't tell me over the comms?" his voice is gravel, when he speaks.

"It's RR." Jason tells him and is satisfied to see the man's rigid posture loosen minutely. "He's been losing weight. Won't let me feed him, either. Whenever I try to talk to him, he closes up tighter than a clam. Do you know something I don't? Is the undead windbag back in town or something?"

Bruce is silent for so long Jason thinks it _is_ fucking Ra's again, but then the older man finally shakes his head once.

"I don't think there is anybody back in play who would put that much of a strain on RR." He pauses and looks down, watching as a car almost runs over a jaywalker, sighs. "I'll try to talk to him, but he doesn't tell me anything, either. Nightwing will be back this weekend, I could ask him to talk to him."

Jason scratches his nose, as he is luckily wearing his domino and not the full helmet.

"Yeah. That'd be appreciated. I'm really worried about him. He doesn't look too good. You work him too hard."

Bruce sighs. "I know, but he refuses to back down and take a break. You know how he is when he is in his manic state. It's impossible to shut him down."

Jason scoffs. "Bullshit. You could bench him. Just like you benched me."

Under the cowl, Jason is 100% certain Bruce is raising a sardonic eyebrow. "He is a grown man, Ja- Hood. You overestimate me if you think I can do _anything_ of the sort. He has his own house, vehicles and bank account. I couldn't have done that to that boy when he was a _teenager_."

Jason smiles, sighs and shakes his head. "True that. He's way too clever for the both of us."

"And yet too stupid to look after himself."

They chuckle at that.

Two months ago Jason would have been horrified to have this talk, but ever since then... It has been a thing that brought them closer together. With Bruce having caught Tim sneaking out of Jason's building in the middle of the night. There were questions, and an aborted, horrified sex talk that traumatized the both of them. Then came a careful shovel talk that culminated in Jason's offhanded "I'm pretty sure if Tim's not happy with me he can kill me in ways you'd never prove" that made Bruce make a face that Jason still thinks of fondly, months later.

Jason thinks, altogether, Bruce took it rather well. They don't bring it up too often, but sometimes Bruce calls Jason first to ask about Tim's whereabouts because the second Robin is the only one whose calls Tim takes without fail. And yet even Jason can't piece together the enigma that's Tim Drake.

"I don't suppose you could sic the girls on him?"

Bruce shakes his head. "That would be a punishment too severe. Maybe... Perhaps later."

"Yeah... They can be a bit much. I hope this is nothing, but..."

"No." Bruce waves him off. "I understand. Thank you. For coming to me with this. I... appreciate it."

Jason is aware his mouth is open in a very unattractive way, but... That's one big milestone they've just passed. Without fanfare, or anybody dying. All because of Tim.

He snaps his mouth shut and clears his throat. "Anytime, old man."

Batman nods.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," he says with the sort of finality in his voice that never fails to reassure Jason.

"Thanks. I mean... _Good_." Jason stands. That's about as much family time he can stand before they start digging up old hurts. "Now... what would you say to some team-up? We could put the fear of the Bat into the hearts of some small-time gangsters and crooks?"

Batman nods, and the next moment he is swinging away gracefully, melting back into the night, the Red Hood following him with an exuberant whoop.

***

They end up calling Dick in the next night.

Jason is sprawled out on his cough, idly wondering whether he should call Tim over, to interrogate him before finally succeeding in some cuddles when all of his tech goes on at the same time. He almost faceplants into the hardwood flooring in his haste to get to any of them before he rights himself (thank god Tim wasn't there to witness that amazing bout of grace) and settles on grabbing his earpiece from his table among the guns and ammo.

"Hey O, where's the fire?"

"Full Arkham breakout, all hands on deck, can you assist?" comes Barb's clipped voice and Jason swears.

"Yeah, yeah I can." He's already hopping into his gear while he tries to remember which guns he can grab that are ready to go. Sue him, but he takes gun safety to the extreme, taking apart his guns and cleaning them religiously before use...

Obviously that just means his ass is uncovered right now, but he can improvise, and put several of them together with some extra ammo to carry and he is good to go.

He is swinging out in ten, jogging to his well-hidden bike - because he isn't mad enough to leave it simply locked up in the Bowerey, he isn't stupid, thanks, very much. So altogether it takes him half an hour, listening to panicked live broadcasts overlaid by his family's calm, controlled and strained voices of what appears to be one hell of a shitstorm.

"All right," he speaks for the first time, aside from the occasional cussing, as he speeds through Somerset against the influx of traffic of panicked people running away. "Where do you need me?"

"If you could block the Westward Bridge until the GCPD get it cordoned off that would free up Robin and BG," Barbara tells him.

"On it," he growls and swerves to avoid a family of pedestrians breaking out from the mob on the sidewalk to try and leg it faster on the street between cars and bikes.

They put him on guard duty, he's aware of that. He knows too well that he still isn't completely trusted, but it's still better than nothing. Also, he knows, the Red Hood with his guns upon guns standing on the other side of the bridge will be enough to deter most of the Arkham populace, especially if they aren't yet aware that the Red Hood has stopped killing.

He swerves again and again to not kill stray pedestrians now, but he does reach the bridge in time. Well, fine, he hopes he made it in time, that is. He nods at the police who eye him with mistrust (who would blame them, honestly) and marches on past the beginnings of a roadblock to stand between Robin and Batgirl.

"Any movement yet?" he asks Steph, who cuts a truly imposing figure against the searchlights coming from behind them, lighting up the night sky and nearby area both water and ground.

"Just a few stragglers," she replies and gives him an unimpressed once-over. "Couldn't you have brought more guns?"

"Sorry, left my Uzi in my other purse" he shrugs unrepentantly. He doesn't really know what she expected him to pack. "I didn't have Arkham breakout circled red in my calendar, so sue me. Next time I'll have something big an menacing at the ready."

She huffs, which could have started out as an aborted laugh or an annoyed grunt, Jason is never sure with her. Some days it seemed like she liked him, but then she'd turn around and rant at him about some obscure thing he did while he was hopped up on pit rage. Pity, because Jason likes her just fine. Girl has spunk.

"We'll be off then. Doctor Frieze is out and picking a fight near Robinson park," she says before she fires her grapple and flies off into the neon-lit night sky.

Robin, the little shit, just scampers off after her like a silent shadow. Jason gives him a sardonic salute before turning back and eyeing the gloomy end of the bridge for movement. He unsnaps his holsters just in case. He reckons he has permission to fire a few warning shots up some asses, if things get serious.

***

Jason spends two nerve-wracking hours on that bridge. The worry isn't for him, no, but he is worried for the others. Well, for Tim, mostly. From the moment he's heard on the comms that Tim has entered the fray he's been chomping at the bits to be allowed to protect him, because seriously, how could Bruce OK _that_ decision?

But he was told, unceremoniously, that he was not to move from Westward Bridge, so begrudgingly he stayed. The bridge was finally getting more traffic anyway, as the police started helping the employees wrangle the escapees still hiding on the island back into Arkham proper. So Jason had to stay to lay cover fire whenever the people got too close to the now fairly impressive roadblock.

And throughout those two hours, he had to stand by and listen to his family fighting the ones who managed to escape. He had to listen to painful grunts and yowls, and Tim's quiet little cries when Frieze wiped the floor with him. It made Jason feel so powerless he almost said fuck it, and flew off back to Somerset several times over, but Bruce, as if reading his mind barked at him to stand his goddamned ground every time.

So Jason stayed. And stays still. Until he is finally given the green light to go.

He gives one last sardonic salute to the army of policemen huddling bravely behind the roadblock and hops back onto his bike. He has to swerve around debris and abandoned _luggage_ of all things. Honestly, is the general populace of Gotham really this mad? He shakes his head as he drives around 4 totaled cars and encounters the first touch of frost.

The blanket of fog follows after, thick and cool, smelling vaguely of fish. He sighs in relief. That means he is getting close to Robinson park, at least. He parks his bike against a few trees and treks further in, until something big, red, green and yellow sails past him and smacks into a tree, hard. _Ouch._

He walks over to help the gremlin up, because he is a gentleman, who thanks him profusely with "instead of lollygagging, why don't you start pulling your considerable weight, Hood?" For a moment he has the urge to push the kid back down and see him struggle back up, but there's petty and then there's _petty_. So he doesn't.

Also, he can hear over the comms that Tim is struggling, so he just leaves the fucking brat where he is and starts off running, turning on the heat vision in his helmet.

***

When daylight creeps in, crimson and bright, they have things under control enough to regroup. They are all tired and bruised, some more than others. Jason is hovering next to Tim, who is white-faced and swaying gently, but shies away from any touching. The hellspawn has a broken arm, courtesy of that fall Jason witnessed, and Step has a black eye that will turn into one hell of a shiner come... eh, whatever time they will finally get to rest.

They are all just trying to work out the logistics of transportation back to the cave when Tim, without a single sound, begins to fall.

Jason, who has been hovering around him in full mother-hen mode, notices first. He has his arms around Tim in seconds, catching his body that weighs _nothing_ before he could hit the ground. He stares down at the ashen skin and the closed eyes and he looks up at Bruce, both terrified and accusing.

"Get him into the batmobile," Bruce barks at him as they all explode in a flurry of motion. "I'll be the fastest."

"He needs a hospital!" Jason argues, but Bruce shakes his head. "They'll be swamped. I'll call Dr Thompkins first. She'll check him over, and if he has to go, I'll ride with him myself."

Jason doesn't like it, but he doesn't have to. Bruce is right. Dr Thompkins is their best bet, if she can be dragged away from her own patients for that long.

"Fine. The gremlin can ride with me then," he offers as he walks Tim over to the beaten-up, dusty, frosty and definitely worse for wear batmobile, and deposits him gently inside. He uses the belts to secure him in, and straightens up, giving Bruce a _look_. "Take care of him, will you?"

"Of course."

Jason turns and marches over to his bike while the batmobile speeds away, and he is glad to see it is miraculously safe among the bushes. He turns to find Damian waiting patiently with a pinched look on his face. His makeshift splint is holding his arm steady, but the ride home will be no joy, Jason knows.

"Put your arm between us and hold onto me with the other. I'll drive carefully."

The kid scoffs. "This is nothing. I do not require coddling, like Drake does!" Damian snaps and Jason sighs.

He can't feel the wooden sticks through the kevlar, but he can't make the brat do anything, unless he is prepared to cause even more damage by tearing out of the Bowery at top speed. So he resorts to be the bigger person once again and accelerates just enough to get them home in one piece.

***

Jason drops the kid off at medical that's suspiciously empty and runs up to catch Bruce's eyes from behind the batcomputer.

"Nothing is broken," the man tells him, and that's one thing off Jason's shoulders. "I sent Dick up with him."

Jason nods and walks towards the staircase, only for a hand to land on his shoulder. It stops him cold. He looks back at a serious Bruce who eyes him with a contemplative look on his face.

"I sent Dick up to him. You should get cleaned up in the time being. Let them talk." Bruce's eyes slide over and down. "I'll set Damian's arm in the meantime."

Jason nods. "Right. Thanks. You'll tell me if anything changes, right?"

"Of course."

So Jason goes to shower.

It's been a while since Jason changed into clean clothes and Damian's arm has been put into a cast. The batmobile has been pronounced a little baged-up, but fine, and Steph is icing her face upstairs. Jason is still arguing with Bruce over the newest plans of Arkham's safety protocols when Dick walks down.

The first thing Jason registers is the blood on his shirt. It's _everywhere_. And then he sees there is also blood on his face, small droplets peppering his chin, a few smeared streaks on his cheekbone and nose.

"What happened?" he asks and is moving towards Dick before a raised hand stops him in his tracks.

"Jason. I need to ask you to step into the glass cage."

Jason blinks. "What." That's a _lot_ of blood on Dick's shirt. Still wet in some places. Jason wants to know whose blood it is. Right now, please. "Dick, whose blood is that?!"

"Jason. Please. I... Please don't do this. Just... get into the cage."

Jason swallows. He doesn't know what's going on, but this shit sounds serious. Seriously scary.

"Dick. Dick I dunno what's going on but I'm not getting into the cage that can contain the fucking _Joker_ unless you tell me what the _hell_ is going on! Is Timmy all right?!"

Dick's mouth trembles. Jason wants to sprint up, but he knows he can't, not when Dick looks determined to tackle him to the ground if he so much as twitches a muscle. He looks over at Bruce, who is just as baffled as he is, but his mouth is already setting into a grim line.

"Maybe you should step into the cage now, Jason, and I promise you once this... whatever this _is_ gets cleared up I will let you out myself."

Jason wants to say no. Every muscle in his body screams at him to flee, but... He can't. Tim is upstairs and hurting and bleeding and if he runs now it'd be 2 against one. The Joker is crazy, right? If he so wished, Jason would be able to get out.

"I get to keep my phone and kit with me, ok?" he asks when both men just stare at him.

Bruce nods. Dick just looks... crushed.

This is not good. Not good at all.

He walks in front of them, like cattle to the slaughter, right into the glass cage Bruce built just for the Joker.

The door closes and locks behind him and he turns.

"All right, Dickie, now tell me what the fuck is going on?! Is that Tim's blood?"

Dick wipes his face with a hand, smearing more blood.

"He has ulcers. The fight broke at least one open, so Doctor Leslie is taking him to the hospital. Alfred's riding with them."

Jason swallows drily, his throat clicking. Tim had ulcers. Of course that would explain the weight loss and the picky diet. "Fuck. Will he... will he be all right? Can I... Dick what's with the fucking cage?!"

At that Dick's grim face goes wretched.

"Jason..." he wipes his face again and when he looks back up he's tired but determined. "Jason, Tim says you raped him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no Cas in this because she plays in godmode. Obviously she could read Tim's mind and hand Jason his arse and then there would be no story. :(


	3. Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Pure, unadulterated angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said there probably won't be a chapter tonight, but... surprise!
> 
> bionerd2point0 has been holding my hand and been an awesome rubber duckie/sounding board worth her weight in gold, so you guys can get a new chapter to agonize over (sorry)
> 
> and I have help with the technicalities of the next chapter from nevertickleasleepinggay.
> 
> Guys. There will be a not-sad ending. I repeat... we won't die choking on our tears!

"Take him up to medical," Bruce asks Dick as soon as they pull up in the garage. "I'll call Leslie."

Dick nods absently while he's trying to untangle Tim from all the belts Jason looped around the prone form. His Little Wing made absolutely sure his boyfriend would be safe and protected even during a frontal car crash. It's so sweet. He can't even be mad even though he wishes he could just cut the belts altogether and not fiddle with them with bruised and aching fingers.

When Dick lifts him out of the batmobile and rights him, he is momentarily taken aback by Tim's weight, or more like the lack of his weight. He frowns. Tim barely weighs _anything_. The shape of him is all wrong, too. He is so thin, so tiny, it has Dick terrified for his little brother.

He looks back at Bruce who gives him one of his stony-but-worried frowns and Dick knows something is up. Something is seriously wrong here. But they _will_ get to the bottom of this, he promises the silent, slack body in his arms.

They lay Tim out for a full-body X-ray and quick triage, but nothing seems to be wrong. Nothing is broken, Tim's body is just bruised all-over, and judging from the prominent ribs and hollow cheeks, severely malnourished. Dick doesn't understand.

He catches Bruce's eyes with a _look_. "What's going on?"

"Jason called me to meet him last night. He said Tim wasn't eating properly and wouldn't tell him what was wrong, either. We agreed that if the situation wouldn't improve, we'd ask you to talk to him this weekend. But then Arkham happened." Bruce pulls his cowl and cape off to sit down into a waiting chair. "We can't ignore this anymore. I realize that Tim is an adult now, but he is putting the whole family in danger, not just himself." He eyes the prone boy again, his eyes going soft and sad before he looks up at Dick. "Leslie said she'll be over as soon as she can. Could you please go up with him and stay with him after you change?"

Dick nods, lost for words. The enormity of the situation is still registering in his brain. He just... he can't fully grasp this. Tim was... Tim was fine just days ago, if a bit withdrawn. There were no signs. _None_.

He jogs over to have a quick wipedown and puts on some of the clothes he finds in his locker before he is back, picking Tim up like he weighs nothing, for _he weighs nothing_. It's truly terrifying, and he wants to clutch that frail body closer, but he doesn't dare. It's killing him.

He takes Tim up to his room and dresses him in a pair of flannel pajamas he finds among the clothes still living there. They are a bit musty perhaps, smelling of mothballs, but they fit. They fit too well, and it's scary. Dick can't remember the last time Tim spent the night here. He would have been a teenager then, still in high school.

He lays the boy down and covers him well under the duvet and all the blankets he can find, until Tim is buried under a veritable mountain. It doesn't make him feel much better, but he hopes at least Tim will. He checks his phone, but all he can see are notifications from social media about the Arkham outbreak. No sign of Doctor Thomphins yet, then.

And Tim is still out.

He unlocks his phone and shoots off a few texts cancelling plans and reassuring friends that he is all right. He reads up articles about the breakout, appreciating the photos some brave and impossibly stupid gothamites took of the Red Hood heroically defending a squadron of cowering policemen before he feels eyes on him.

When he looks up, he sees a pair of blue eyes staring back at him.

"I'm really really hot," Tim tells him in a small voice.

Dick's mouth ticks up and he puts his phone aside to take down a blanket... then two at the boy's insistence.

"How are you feeling, Timmy? You scared us all back there..." he prompts, hoping that's all the boy needs.

"M'sorry." Tim says and squirms a little, wincing in pain.

"What hurts?"

"My stomach. Frieze kicked me when I was frozen to the ground."

Dick nods. He remembers that scream all right. But there was nothing on the X-rays, nor during the triage Bruce did after. Tim must be sporting one hell of a bruise...

"It's all right," he leans over to put a gentle hand over Tim's chest. "Doctor Thompkins will be over as soon as she can. She'll look you over. She'll look all of us over when the others get back."

"M'not hurt, just sleepy." Tim tells him with a frown and looks away.

There. That's what Dick has been picking up on. Tim's been acting shifty.

"Tim..." he tries carefully, because god knows, they all could use a little patience and gentle handling. "You haven't been eating well. We could see how thin you are. Would you tell me what's wrong?"

"Not hungry. Just... busy." The boy tells and sighs, eyes going to the window.

He's lying again. It's easier to spot when Dick’s _really_ looking for it. Tim is probably the best actor among them all, partially thanks to his upbringing. Being the Drake heir meant he had to attend parties and galas from a very young age, so it stands to reason it’s really hard to spot when Tim’s lying his ass off. 

Bruce is used to it. There’s an unspoken agreement between them that unless it impacts their lives in a detrimental way, Tim is allowed to get away with his half-truths and careful omissions. Dick knows this, because Bruce has told Dick about it years ago. But this… whatever Tim is hiding now, seems to be something big that breaks that rule. And it’s bad enough that Bruce had to send him up to wrangle it out of the boy. Or… young man, though right now, small and frail, Tim looks nothing sort of childish and fragile and so very breakable.

And it hurts Dick. And it’s hard. He honestly didn't think it would be easy to drag the truth out of Tim of all people, but he is getting tired. Both physically and mentally. It’s been a long night. For all of them. 

"Do you want me to see if Jason got back yet? Would that be better?" he offers, because honestly, maybe Jason could help him get this out of Tim faster.

He isn't prepared for the absolute, undiluted _panic_ spreading over Tim's face before it is wrangled back behind an expressionless mask. "Please don't," is all Tim says in a quiet, measured voice.

And _now_ Dick is worried.

"Do you... not want Jason to know you are not eating well?"

Tim shakes his head. Which, with Tim, can mean _anything_. The kid's too clever for his own good, Dick knows. So that means... Dick has to dig his claws into this until Tim fesses up. Just what he needed after an Arkham breakout: interrogate his clearly sick and terrified step-sibling.

Well. There goes Dick's marshmallow and best-brother status. At least he still has Damian.

"Timmy..." he prompts, still gently. "Do you not want Jason to see you like this? Or is this about something else?"

Dick is playing close attention to Tim, that's why he sees it just when it happens. Tim's eyes begin to widen and his mouth turns down, just a fraction, before it trembles and he whimpers, and then he is jackknifing up in bed, vomiting, spraying the bed and Dick with warm...

It's warm. That's really the first thing Dick registers. And also that it's red, bright red and smells so much like copper and sour apples. And then he wipes his face with his shirt and realizes it's blood. _That's_ when he begins to panic.

He doesn't realize he is rising to call for help, possibly for Alfred or Bruce or Jason, but then Tim stumbles into his arms, clinging to him with his whole weight and Dick realizes he is talking, begging him over and over with the same phrase: "please don't call him! Please don't call him!"

So he sits on the bed and tries to wrangle a shaking, delirious Tim back into his bed while he is trying to squirm out and also cling to Dick, his shirt going taut as it is clenched between fingers that have gone white from the force of it.

"Who?" he asks, lost and so very terrified. They checked Tim out. Bruce did it himself, multiple times. There was no internal bleeding!

But then Tim whimpers out " _Jason!!_ Please don't call Jason, Dick, don't call Jason, don't call Jason!" and Dick is... Dick is floundering. He's clueless and Tim isn't giving him anything to go on.

"All right, baby bird, I'm not calling Jason. Just... tell me what's wrong?" he tries and pulls back a bit, just enough to see Tim's terrified, ashen face with his mouth red and wet with his own blood.

And Tim goes... he just flops on Dick, digs his face into his wet (wet with Tim's blood) shirt and sobs, big, miserable, heaving sobs until Dick's arms curl up around him, still lost at what the hell is happening. He doesn't know what is wrong with Tim, he still doesn't, but he knows it's bad. Very bad.

"Come on Tim, please. Talk to me. Tell me, please?" he keeps cajoling and begging and trying to soothe the hysterical boy... young man in his arms.

"I can't." Tim tells him between two sobs, voice shaking and weak. "I can't, or he'll _kill you_."

That freezes the blood in Dick's veins. There. At least now they are getting somewhere. But... not good.

"Who. Who would kill me?"

Tim shakes his head and nuzzles into Dick's wet shirt, still sobbing his heart out. "Can't tell you. He'll kill you. Kill all of you. He could do it, he's too _strong_."

"Nobody is too strong. hell, Timmy whoever's after you we can save you, keep you safe. We can call in Bruce, the Justice League, anybody and everybody. Whoever we need they will all come to save you, I promise. Come on Timmy, tell me. I promise you I'll keep you safe."

"You can't. _He could kill you all!_ He could, _he_ could!"

Dick sighs. He strokes the bony back, wincing at how he can feel each vertebrae. Tim shouldn’t be this thin. _Nobody_ should be this thin. And he strokes it some more.

"I promise, all right? We could take down anybody. Just say the name. I promise you, we won't let him touch you or us, all right? _I swear_."

Tim vomits again and Dick groans. This is not good. No. This is really, _really_ bad. This is the sort of bad that’s going to turn even worse if Tim refuses help. He holds his little brother until he is done, until his teeth begin chattering, until he looks up, his ashen face smeared with bright red arterial blood and tears and he says the single name Dick never in a hundred years would have expected.

"Jason."

Dick wants to ask what about Jason, but he bites down on his tongue just in time, and he doesn’t say a word. Unfortunately, his body language is a whole 'nother thing. He doesn't know what his face does before he locks it down into a carefully caring mask, but he sees Tim's eyes widen and feels his weak struggles before he gives up and slumps down against Dick again.

"Just... don't tell him what I told you. Please!" is what Tim says in such a weak, heartbreaking tone Dick has to rein his feelings back in.

“I won’t.” Dick tries to tell him, but Tim looks back at him, his eyes droopy, his face defeated and Dick’s heart lurches in his chest at the sight. He realizes he’s never, ever seen Tim looking so utterly empty and done with all things living.

He pulls Tim into a one-armed hug with one hand, clutching him close, while he pulls out his phone with his other, behind the boy’s back. Tim has barely any bulk to him, so he doesn’t even have to strain to peer at the screen as he accesses the toxicology part of Tim's blood test to check that there is absolutely no trace of Fear Toxin in his blood. But Tim is clean, like they knew he was. Crane was not among the escapees.

Tim is, to the best of their knowledge, sane.

So that means...

He turns his phone on to record before he sets it down next to them on the desk.

"Tim. I swear I won't tell anybody anything, nor act on it, but you need to tell me everything. I have to know more. If for nothing else, to protect the family."

Tim looks up at him, face white as a sheet and smeared with blood, weak, tired and frail, and he does.

“It all started when those cultists kidnapped us and tried to sacrifice us…”

Dick listens attentively, humming and nodding along when Tim is about to peter off or chokes up with unshed tears. It’s hard, it’s really hard not to interject because the difference between what Dick saw from Jason's side, and what Tim is telling now is truly staggering. Like seeing himself in a funhouse mirror, reflected all distorted and grotesque. He tries not to clench his teeth too hard, to not make it noticeable, but he has to physically make himself unable to talk, or else he knows he would try to make sense of the discrepancy, and scare Tim into silence in the process.

Things are not adding up, but Dick knows this is not about him, but Tim. So he listens. He listens until Tim runs out of things to say and sobs, broken and bloody against Dick’s drying chest.

And then, finally, Dick begins to talk. He adopts a gentle, insistent tone to reassure Tim that all will be fine, that he will be fine and that Jason will be dealt with. Tim will be freed and everything will be well again. He doesn’t care about anything else at the moment, but reassuring his terrified little brother who looks like he’s as Death’s door.

***

When Doctor Thompkins breezes in, Dick is unceremoniously shoved out into the hallway against all of his and Tim’s protests, the door closing in his face. Dick stands there forlornly, lost for words and lost in general, trying to make sense of the last… however many minutes.

He thinks. He tries to wrap his head around the things Tim said. The threats. The coercion, the pure malice Jason should have exhibited…

He knows Jason. They all know Jason and it is... many of the things Tim has said sound so out of character for Jason…

If only there was something in Tim’s blood. Something that could explain this outburst away. But Tim’s blood is clean. And yet he is bleeding, vomiting up blood for god’s sake and that pure terror Dick saw shining in his eyes…

No. Something’s very wrong here. Something won’t add up no matter which direction he tries to turn the puzzle pieces.

Jason says they are in a loving relationship. Tim says he is threatened, blackmailed and regularly raped. One of them must be lying. But who. Why… or how?

Jason has been over the moon and downright pleasant to interact with since their relationship has started. Dick can’t imagine his Little Wing doing something this awful, especially since he has broken Batman’s own one single sacred rule to punish just what Tim has accused him of.

But the horror in Tim’s face, his voice, his entire demeanor and the state he has been in… That was true. Tim was afraid and has been afraid for a long time. It’s not something anybody could fake… even if they wanted to, and Tim certainly had no reason to do it. But this was Tim, it was Tim’s blood (Dick checked) and it was real, whatever this was.

Dick would… perhaps understand it if this all would have been the work of an impostor. Someone masquerading to be Jason Todd… but to what end? And to what lengths would someone need to go to, to get insider knowledge on all of their lives? He knew more about Bruce, about Dick than any random observer or League ninja could ever get. This was their Little Wing, Dick knew. He _had_ to be.

But if he wasn’t…

If he wasn’t, and he has been blackmailing and threatening Tim all along… Well, the million dollar question was: why didn’t Tim come to them? Why didn’t he ask for help? Bruce had the Justice League at his fingertips, ready to snatch Tim out of whatever trouble he was in, because surely one single Jason Todd couldn’t take them all.

So... why would Tim let it get to this point?

That’s what really nags at Dick’s subconscious, reminding him of unpleasant truths half buried in memories. Because if he has to be completely honest with himself, Tim has always been... Well, Tim has always been a little too eager to fall on his own sword for his family. To sacrifice himself. Dick knows (not that he would have admitted it to Tim) that _that_ time, when Tim outmaneuvered Ra's and got kicked out of a building 50 storeys up for his trouble... he had no lifeline. He had no hope and no backup plan, and if Dick never happened on him... he still tries to convince himself that Tim wasn't just blithely lying about knowing Dick would save him, because taking a shortcut that way and catching his fall was all due to pure chance.

Tim couldn't have known.

Tim was ready to sacrifice himself for his family then. Then and later again. Tim has always been a little too eager to sacrifice himself for his family.

Dick wants to scream.

The door opens.

“We need to get him to a hospital. I’ve already called an ambulance. Can you ride with him?”

***

He sends Alfred with Tim. He knows it sounds awful, but he made a promise to Tim, and he intends to keep it.

They know Tim is Tim. But they don’t know if Jason is really Jason.

It breaks his heart when he finally goes down and Jason… it’s his Little Wing, worried for Tim. So worried it’s completely believable and Dick’s heart seizes up at the thought that he is profiling his little brother, looking for lies!

But he _promised_ Tim.

So he makes Jason get into the only thing he is sure could hold him, both as Jason Todd and… as anything else he might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news: chapter count went up to 5. Sorry. :(
> 
> (Also very sorry, but no update tonight, I'm struggling to get this chapter out.)


	4. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein everybody knows Bruce's secrets and someone gets a clue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize. I meant to post it last night, but I just couldn't get it out, because I think this was, so far, the most painful chapter of all.
> 
> I planned the chapter break for later, but... well. This is what I managed to write. It'll be all uphill from this one. I'm making no promises, but that's my intention.
> 
> Shoutout to bionerd2point0, she has been an amazing cheerleader, idea bouncer, correcter and handholder in all of this and also the dark/triggery kinky people of C&C discord. 
> 
> Oh and... update might not come tomorrow night as Friday is my DnD night, but I might make it. I have parts of it written... But first I'll have to tackle what I left out of this chapter. Brrrrr.

Bruce is still frozen stiff and immobile as Dick marches Jason over to the lesser used part of the batcave to lock him up. In the cage Bruce built for the Joker. The secret cage he built for the Joker that nobody should know about, except him.

Why is it, that everybody in this family knows his best kept secrets, is what he wants to know. Preferably now. But his sons march off without any input from him, Dick with a determined, meaningful frown thrown his way, Jason bewildered and seeking help.

Jason is frantic, Dick is crushed but determined, both obviously terrified, and he is just standing there, still frozen to the spot. Impotent. Useless. Unaware of what has happened. But one look at Dick belies the gravity of the situation, and he resorts to let his oldest take the lead. Within reason, of course.

"Maybe you should step into the cage now, Jason,” he suggests, because whatever has happened, the cage sounds like the safest and sanest solution until Bruce can get to the bottom of all.. This. Whatever this is. “And I promise you once this... whatever this _is,_ gets cleared up I will let you out myself," he adds because Jason looks unconvinced and shaken himself.

No, Jason doesn’t seem to be too happy about the situation and Bruce can’t blame him. But there is nothing else to be done, and being confined in the cage is a lot more dignified than hogtied in a corner.

"I get to keep my phone and kit with me, ok?" Jason asks him with a tight frown. Underneath it Bruce can see the terror and doubt seeping in. Terror of them, about what they could do to him if they wished. Bruce’s heart breaks for his son. His _sons_.

He nods. That sounds reasonable. Jason has, to his knowledge, done nothing that would warrant the removal of his phone and various knives. Possibly hidden gun and lockpicks. It’s not like he could break out of this cage with the help of those, in any case.

Bruce stands while he watches Dick marching his second son into the cage that could contain the Joker himself and lock it shut. He doesn’t know what to expect, what horror would warrant such a reaction, but what Dick says next sounds almost outlandish. Far-fetched. Inconceivable.

Dick accusing Jason of _raping_ Tim he never expected, not in a million years.

“These are serious accusations,” he says, pitching his voice so that it carries.

No answer comes, just the sounds of fading footsteps that echo among the cave walls as Dick runs off without a word. He stands there trying to come up with reasonable explanations for all of… this. He stares at Jason’s slack, worried face, who is trying to form words of outrage.

Bruce realizes that he is already profiling his son for signs of… of rape. Of deceit. Of hurting Tim. He steps away to go and find Dick, but then... stops.

He wants to run to Alfred with this. He can suffer violence and rage and guilt, but this is something different, It’s insidious and unthinkable. Something he could not just… wave away. Something that maybe even Batman can’t deal with.

He’s still standing there, thinking when Dick storms back and attempts to bypass him on his way back from... medical. Dick almost collides with him with a modified med kit in his hands, looking so determined he is almost manic, so Bruce braces him so they don’t crash to end in a sorry heap on the floor.

They are both tired. Bruce is running on two days without sleep, because after Jason told him about Tim’s condition, he has been looking into things. His eating habits, his credit card trail, every time he skipped family dinner. It was enough to keep Bruce up all night and contact a few people, among them dietitians, and then Arkham happened.

Dick must be similarly exhausted, he thinks, with the opening of his new… body building centre or whatever it was. He makes a note to check up on his sons more often and sighs. It’s hopeless, isn’t it.

At least he knows where Damian is, right now. Where he spends most of his time. Alone among his ever growing menagerie of adopted animals, taking for them and caring for his needs. No matter how many times Bruce imposes a limit and attempts to put his foot down, a day or so later another needy, 3-legged or broken-winged animal shows up and he (like his son) can never say no. After all, as Damian says, they do have the space.

At least Damian has grown into his responsibilities towards his furry and feathery friends and he is studying to do right by them. Bruce is secretly glad that there is at least one son he doesn’t have to worry about. And then he always feels guilty, because… who would really think like that about his children? Not responsible parents, that is certain.

“We need to check if it’s really Jason!” Dick jerks him out of his thoughts, and Bruce realizes Dick has been attempting to free himself for a while now.

Yes, he thinks, Dick must also be running on fumes. There are big, purple bags under his eyes and he looks like Killer Croc chewed on him. He might have. He was among last night’s escapees. But the bottom line is, they are all very tired, and that is not a good place to start something without enough proof.

“Dick,” he sighs, and refrains from shaking his oldest. “Whatever this is, you can spare two minutes to talk me through it.”

Dick looks at him, looks him straight in the eyes and Bruce feels it like a physical punch to his solar plexus.

“Bruce… Tim was terrified. He was honestly, bone-chillingly terrified of Jason. He said… I have it all on my phone, I will let you listen later, _I swear_ , but first we need to test… _whatever_ it is in that cage because Tim’s bloodwork checks out and there was _no_ Crane gas used in the breakout. Tim’s tox screen was clean, there was _nothing_ in his blood!”

Bruce’s hands drop from Dick’s shoulder to let him go. He bounds off and Bruce follows him silently like a bleak shadow. Dick’s explanation sounds too plausible. Because if Tim was terrified, and he was clean, then that must be Jason... But.

He stops. He swallows. It has been going on for months. They all have known about it. Bruce only from Jason's side because Tim refused to talk about Jason. At any time. Bruce should have pressed, but he thought Tim was shy, that he was also happy…

_Oh no._

He dials Alfred. He makes sure with codewords Dick shouldn’t know about, that he should be on high alert and if possible, not to let Tim out of his sights. That something is going on. That Bruce will call him back if he knows something, but if he doesn’t in an hour… expect the worst.

Dick already has commandeered Jason’s arm out of the designated hole in the cage and is taking a sample, so Bruce stops in front of a panicked-looking Jason, who is acting every bit like the Jason Todd they know.

Bruce looks between his two sons: Dick, haggard and determined and Jason, who is doing his level best to not to lose his cool in the face of whatever his brother just told him. Bruce doesn’t yet know who to trust. That’s why he takes the kit from Dick and pulls out a syringe. And waits.

When Dick is done, he waits until he caps the vial before he steps up to the cage himself. While keeping Dick in his sights as well, obviously.

“Give me your other arm,” he tells Jason who does so with a defiant tilt of his mouth.

“So do you wanna tell me what’s going on, old man?” Jason asks as Bruce sticks the needle in him and draws enough blood for some tests of his own.

“Not yet. We need to test your blood. These are serious accusations. I’m sorry Jason, but… I will be getting to the bottom of this, I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before. Just… please keep me updated on Tim? And don’t believe in crazy shit? I mean… I _swear_ I didn’t do anything like that. You know I would never, in a _million_ years hurt Tim. Bruce. He is my fucking shining light, he is my tiny little babybird. I’d never even _think_ of hurting him, you have to know that! Rape! Me?! I’d _never!_ ”

“I know. Calm down, Jason. This is simply a precaution. We will get to the bottom of this,” he tries to reassure Jason. He tries to be the calm one. Because there are so many possibilities. Tim might be delirious with pain and whatever might be happening to him. They just need to be certain of the facts that they _can_ know. And then untangle the rest.

And that’s why he pulls out another needle and turns to Dick. “Your arm please.”

Dick looks at him, raises a single eyebrow before he drops it and sighs, presenting his arms for Bruce to pick one.

 _All_ facts.

***

They test the blood samples. They all check out. Dick falls down into a chair that squeaks hard in protest.

“Oh god. Bruce,” Dick whispers. “It’s Jason. It’s really Jason. What do we do now?”

There is only one thing to do.

“You said you had a recording? Of Tim?”

Dick jumps up in a flurry of motion, his face doing that thing it does (and he has chided Dick on this particular tell too many times to count) when he knows someone else has taken the reins. Bruce sighs and waits patiently until Dick unlocks his phone and finds the recording and uploads it to the batcomputer. It does have a better sound system.

Bruce takes a single moment, one breath, to brace himself, and then hits play.

Tim’s voice, breathy and shaky comes clean through. It’s jarring. He can hear the panic, the desperation, the animal “would gnaw your own leg off to get free” terror that emanates from each word. It’s hard to listen to it. He has to stop it multiple times. He can see it taking its toll on Dick, so he feels justified.

They go through it once. And then he sends Dick off to wash up, and he listens two more times to it. Because he has to be certain that he hears what he hears.

When Dick is back, pink-cheeked and hollow-eyed, they look wordlessly at each other.

“What do you think?” Dick asks. His voice is wooden and just… empty.

“I don’t know.” Bruce admits. “It’d be hasty to guess right now. Tim… might not have been himself when he said… all that. It could have been the blood loss, the-”

“Blood loss doesn’t make you hallucinate you’ve been raped!” Dick hisses, angry.

Bruce sees red. Before he knows it, he is yelling “do you really think that Jason raped Tim? _Repeatedly?_ Blackmailed him with hurting him, hurting his friends, hurting _all of us_ to get him to acquiesce?”

Dick jerks back like he was slapped by Bruce. Bruce sits back himself, having found in his rage he has risen to tower over his eldest, and sighs. “I’m… I’m sorry Dick. I just. I can’t imagine it. Not _Jason_. He loves Tim. Every time he talks about him, it’s always just this outpouring love. He is proud of him, protective of him, even though he knows Tim is twice as vicious as he could ever be… I just don’t see how this…”

“Perhaps this overwhelming love is what drove Jason to do it?” Dick offers, though Bruce can see the uncertainty creeping back onto his face.

“I still can’t believe Jason would be a rapist. Anger management issues, yes. Murder? Possibly. But laying his hands on the vulnerable and coercion are things he would never in a million years do. It doesn’t fit. There’s something we are missing.”

Dick nods morosely. Bruce knows he knows. Dick has seen how smitten Jason has been, still is they both have, But they also know that if Jason’s advances would have been rebuffed he would have taken it graciously. They have seen it happen before. There was a clear pattern.

And this just doesn’t fit.

They are still mulling it over when Bruce hears… chatter. It’s soft and low, but the cave walls echo. There is no hiding it, someone else is down in the cave.

He motions for Dick and they both go investigating, until they trail back to Jason’s cage to find… Damian sitting in front of the cage with Jason sprawled on the floor on the other side of the door. And they are talking.

Does everybody know about this part of the cave?!

Damian rises, Pennyworth clutched against his chest. At least that answers one question, Bruce grouses.

“Forgive me Father, but I was alarmed by the ambulance. Pennyworth escaped down here and…”

Bruce waves it off.

“It’s all right. Tim was… hurt. An ulcer tore and they had to take him to the hospital. Alfred rode with him.” He clears his throat and looks at Jason. “Your blood work checks out but…” he sighs. He hates being the bearer of bad news, he does. “We need to keep you here until Tim gets back. Just until this is cleared up.”

Jason nods, like he expected no better. Bruce’s heart breaks, because Jason has always had to settle with being the suspicious one, the one who got the short end of the stick. Like now.

“I’ll… I’ll bring down some food and blankets. And books. Whatever you need.”

Jason gives him a sardonic look.

“What I need is to be there next to Tim who is probably scared out of his mind and hallucinating, and stay there until he is better. But I will settle for some Shakespeare or Austen or whatever you can find.”

Bruce nods. “Of course. I’ll bring down some pillows and…" he peers into the cage to make sure none of Damian’s pets or any of his kids decided to make this a hidden base or god knows what, and is met with the bare stone just as he left it. “I’ll get a spare mattress.”

“Thanks, old man. I’m happy to see I at least rate that much.” Jason drawls, but his eyes belie his discomfort. Bruce knows he must be wondering why he is not let out.

But Bruce can’t let him listen to _that_. Not yet, not before they… They need to think. To find some sort of way Tim would be wrong, because he knows Jason wouldn’t take that well, and he can only deal with one family crisis at once.

He gives Damian a look. “You may keep Jason company until I get him settled, but then I expect you to get to bed. Just because it is not a weekday you cannot slack on your studies.”

Damian nods. “Yes, Father.” Bruce can hear the capital F. Yet another thing he has to teach Damian. He is not Ra’s. He doesn’t expect obedience for obedience’s sake.

He sighs. One issue at a time. One crisis.

He nods at his boys and leaves them to it. The chatter starts back up the moment he is further away, but he refuses to turn around. Jason is not getting Damian to be his accomplice. He is being paranoid. They are all paranoid. This is… this must be some sort of… He doesn’t know, but this can’t be true. None of it.

Eventually, he has Jason settled. A sturdy mattress, various pillows, a duvet, blankets and sheets have been brought to him that make the cave a little more livable. He has food to spare and books upon books, wherever he and Dick could find were brought down, and Jason didn’t try to flee, not even once. That fortifies their hopes, that it’s some sort of… coincidence or misunderstanding or both, and they all go to sleep, because they need it.

Bruce especially thinks he would be kept awake all night, but he falls asleep as soon as his head hits his pillow.

***

Bruce wakes in increments. He feels… He feels his age for just a moment, staying in his soft, warm bed just a moment longer until he sucks it up and begins his routine. Until he realizes Alfred is not around to make him breakfast.

Until he realizes he has a family crisis on his hand he cannot beat into submission.

He grabs a granola bar and goes down to the cave with a few more to give at least something to Jason, only to find Steph sitting in front of the cage on a chair she must have dragged over from the cave proper.

It’s official, _everybody_ knows about the hidden part of his cave. He sighs. Steph looks over and waves. In the background he can see Jason eating cereal from… Dick’s bowl. That’s going to be an argument he doesn’t want to be there for.

“Hey Bruce, just came down to give some food to the captive. He’s a growing boy you know!”

Bruce nods. He nods at Jason, too. The bed behind him looks disturbed at least, so he hopes Jason didn’t spend all night agonizing over what Bruce should have been agonizing over.

“So Dick said he’s going to swap with Alfred at the hospital?” Steph says and Bruce winces. “Tim had ulcers that tore. Doctor Thompins checked him over before he was taken in.”

The blond head bobs. “Uh-huh. So. Why is Jason in the cage you built for the Joker?”

Bruce wants to groan. Instead he sighs. “Tim said some things that need to be checked out, but he is at the hospital and-”

“What, did he accuse Jason of stealing his virginity?”

Bruce blinks.

Steph blinks back.

“Wait, did he _really_?”

Bruce can’t help but try to stem the approaching headache. “Tim was very sick last night and he said things we couldn’t yet ascertain.”

Bruce can see the moment she latches on.

_“What sorts of things??”_

“ _Private_ things. Serious things. I hope you will respect both Tim’s, - who is still in the hospital - and Jason’s privacy.” He tells her before he turns around to go up and make himself a strong coffee. And find some painkillers.

“So did you really take his virginity?” he hears Steph ask Jason and he shakes his head.

Jason’s reply gives him pause though.

“I don’t think so? I mean he was pretty eager, but at the same time shy? Like he came in, took his clothes off and was all 'are we doing it or not?!' But with much less talking. I mean… I know he isn’t really a chatterbox, but he was really quiet, so…”

“So?”

Bruce can hear the pause. That _damning_ pause. He doesn’t move, far out of sight but still in hearing distance, because… There is an idea forming in his head and it’s not good.

“So I think it might be that he’s shy?” Jason offers softly. “I mean he was always… kind of shy with me? I mean… How… long does it take for you to get used to a guy… or girl! I’m not judging! So how long does it take you to get used to your partner and be the loud, and hey-! I meant your _lovely_ self around them?”

“Uh… A month maybe? Less? I dunno.”

_“Oh.”_

Bruce definitely hears that.

He goes up to make himself an Irish coffee. _Very heavy_ on the Irish part.

***

Bruce takes a while to marshal his thoughts. Once he thinks things over, really thinks things over with the new idea Steph unwittingly put into his head, he knows he will have to have a serious talk with Jason.

He just doesn’t know how.

And Tim is still in the hospital, so all they have is his recorded voice telling… _Oh god._ Poor Tim. Poor Jason. He knows this will tear Jason’s heart straight out of his chest, if Bruce is right.

He makes himself another Irish coffee, and then he just drinks the whiskey straight. What use is there to lie to himself? This is going to be one very unpleasant talk.

Eventually he goes down to the cave, taking two glasses and the bottle of whiskey with him. He knows Jason doesn’t drink, but even he will appreciate a little bit of cushioning of the truth. _If_ it is the truth.

When he nears the cage he sees Alfred is there, talking with Jason in hushed voices. When they spot him, Alfred stands up. Bruce can tell when he spots the bottle in his hand. His mouth thins and his watery eyes come up to lock with Bruce’s.

“Don’t be hard on the boy,” he tells him when he reaches Bruce, putting a wrinkled but strong hand on his shoulders to squeeze it in fortification. “He will be hard enough on himself when he realizes.”

Bruce nods. So Alfred figured it out, too. Which means Bruce was right. Is right.

Of course, at this point, he would give _anything_ to be proven wrong.

He waits until Alfred’s steps fade and then he sinks down into the chair. He puts the glasses on the little slot that works as a makeshift table to put food on for the… Joker, and he pours both of them a generous amount. Then he caps the bottle, puts it down and takes his glass.

“Drink,” he tells Jason, who stares at him with open trepidation.

“What the fuck?!”

“Language,” Bruce sighs. “Drink.”

He waits until Jason takes the glass and throws it back, grimacing, before he starts sipping his own.

“All right, old man. Now tell me. Is Tim dead?”

As if. Bruce takes the bottle and pours Jason another helping.

“No, he isn’t. Drink.”

“Bruce. What’s… what is this?!” Jason asks bewildered. He is afraid now, clearly, visibly afraid. But the whiskey will help. Bruce knows he will need it.

“Just drink that one and we will talk.”

Jason, after sniffing the whiskey cautiously, does. He slaps the glass down onto the table and sits down. He makes a show of it.

“All right, old man. I’m boozed up. Hit me.”

Jason, in fact, isn’t really boozed up. But Bruce wouldn’t be able to get him drunk, nor does he want to. He just needed Jason a little off the edge, and now he has him.

He pulls out his phone and starts Tim’s recording where he, after Dick’s prompting, starts recounting the whole ordeal as it unfolded in a chronological order. He watches as Jason’s face goes through various emotions too quick to recognize, but he catches more than a few. Incredulity. Horror. Disgust.

He shuts it off when he can’t take it.

“Don’t.” Jason growls from his cell. “I want to hear it all.”

Bruce doesn’t want to, but he hits play again.

It’s grueling. It’s awful. He can see Jason struggling with himself, but there is nothing to be done until Tim’s voice quiets and peters off in soft sobs.

“So I _am_ a rapist.” Jason spits. His face is white, pulled into an awful grimace Bruce has never in all of their years together seen on his face. It’s horrifying. He’s never seen something this terrible.

"It's not that simple," Bruce says, but he knows that... while it's true, from Tim's point of view, Jason is. Even though from Jason's view he was nothing but a loving boyfriend.

When Tim comes back, Bruce will ask him, gently, very very gently, why Tim didn’t feel brave enough to ask Bruce for help. He will tell him that Tim can always trust him to protect him, because Bruce will, and because it feels awful that any of his kids feel the need to sacrifice their bodies, their lives for his… But right now he needs to concentrate on Jason, who has made a terrible blunder.

“It’s that simple for him. I raped him. You heard him.”

Bruce nods.

“I did. But Jason. You are but a single man. It was Tim, who made you a bogeyman in his own head, who held the entire world hostage, just to get at him. You are not the only party at fault. If either of you communicated, all of this would have been resolved.”

“Bullshit!” Jason screams, tearing into his messy hair. “I kept asking him for dates, begged him to let me feed him, I told him ‘love you’ when he left! I _talked!_ ”

Bruce nods. “But did you listen?”

Jason shakes his head.

“He should have come to us. To me. He should have told us sooner, but he didn’t. We all thought this thing was mutual until he told Dick it wasn’t. He told Dick he was protecting us from you. We are all at fault. Even him.”

Jason curls up on the uncomfortable chair and begins to sob.

“I’m so sorry, son.” He tells Jason gently. He wants to open the cage and embrace his son, but now he doesn’t dare. He is certain that if he did, Jason would spring out and escape, only to fling himself unarmed at Gotham’s villains to get killed once again.

“I don’t deserve to be your son.” Jason tells him with a soft, quiet voice, stuffy with unshed tears.

“Bullshit,” he replies back and is rewarded with two round, teal eyes peeking out between fingers at him in alarm. “You heard me. I said it’s _bullshit_. You are my idiot son, and Tim is also my idiot son, and together we will fix it all. No matter what it takes.”

And fine. Maybe he doesn’t believe that everything can be fixed, because perhaps some things can’t, but he will be damned if he doesn’t try. He will attempt to heal both of his sons, because they equally deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kicked the chapter count up to 6. Sorry. This is going much slower than I thought it would. I want a happy ending after all this suffering, damn it!


	5. Tim Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail bionerd2point0 who helped me proof/pre-read it even though she was and is still very busy. 
> 
> Also, many many thanks to nevertickleasleepinggay, who had helped me working out Tim's therapy.
> 
> Before you ask, it was a beast to write, but I hope you all will like it.

As Tim makes an aborted move to step in, his foot knocks over a tower of books. They topple down in an avalanche. He watches dispassionately as they slide and tumble until they finally stop deeper in the cage, nearing the pile of blankets in the corner where Jason is hiding.

Tim looks down to try and read a few of their titles. He doesn’t feel well enough to bend down - he was always a little bit anemic, and now he _swoons_ \- but he can still make out a few. Much Ado About Nothing. Persuasion… _Sonnets_ , of all things!

He pauses as he’s reminded of all the times Jason asked him to stay and watch movies with him. Romantic ones. Under blankets, sharing space.

He swallows as he withdraws.

He knows now that Jason was serious. He meant every word. The movie nights, the praises, the cooking. He thought they were dating and that he was treating Tim right. That Tim was just the withdrawn one in their relationship and Jason had to take the initiative every time.

They were both so _stupid!_

He gets the sudden, sadistic urge to step on the books and grind them against the ground, to make Jason, who is huddling deeper under his blankets in that dark corner of the cage _suffer_ , to see his stricken expression once again. To drive it home how _little_ Tim appreciated his advances.

And right after that he feels horrified, horrified at the thought of having thought that, of thinking of doing that, thinking of lashing out, when Jason is clearly hurting as much as he is. But while Tim is up there among his family, Jason is down here in the cave, refusing to get out. Trying to atone.

Tim, in his darkest moments, thinks it is all a ploy, to lure Tim into a false sense of security. But he knows it isn’t. Jason is honestly trying to atone. Even though Tim told him there’s no need, that he doesn’t care if Jason is up there. He _doesn’t_.

He _really_ doesn’t. Now that this has been cleared up and he has seen firsthand how useless the real Jason is, how tiny and insignificant and _broken…_ Now that his family is all around him, now that they are all fawning over Tim (which he doesn’t always like), now that they all _know_ , Tim just doesn’t care. At all. Jason Todd could be hula hooping through the library or on top of the dinner table, and Tim wouldn’t care, because he feels safe and protected.

Because now he knows Jason is a pathetic, harmless pile of regrets, and not the monster under his bed. Because he doesn’t have to go running anymore. He doesn’t have to worry. He’s free.

Jason Todd is… nothing to him.

But still, every now and then, (even now) Tim wishes Jason gave him a reason to hit him. To make him hurt, _really_ hurt. Tim would stare him straight in the eyes as he laid into him, kicked him until he was bloody and broken. He would stare at him and smile.

And it scares Tim. It really does.

This is why he said yes to Bruce’s suggested psychologist visits. And now... he thinks he is finally ready to go.

***

Tim does _not_ enjoy the procedure, but they give him something that makes him calm, calmer than he has been in months. That’s nice. His brain finally stops.

It also helps that someone is always with him. First it is Alfred, sad and then grim after, and the next day it is Dick, who is all smiles and gentle touches. It feels good. It keeps feeling good until he is being weaned off of the pills and his brain comes back online with all the terror it has withheld for days.

He panics. He tries to get discharged on the spot, but he is told he has to stay in for one more day. He can barely stand it. Only the presence of Dick saves him from doing something monumentally stupid.

And Dick stays with him for that extra day, pays extra and charms the nurses until he can stay in Tim’s room non-stop, even sleep in there. Tim feels safe. Saf _er_. Until he is discharged and Dick, reluctantly trails after him as Tim is wheeled out to the car.

Bruce is waiting for them in the back, face set with a frown that has Tim clawing at Dick’s arm.

‘It’s all right, Timmy!” Dick says gently as he plucks Tim out of the chair and into the car right across from Bruce. He thanks the man taking the wheelchair back in profusely and sits next to Tim, belting him in. While Tim sits frozen and terrified of what that frown could entail.

As soon as the doors close and the car begins to move, Bruce clears his throat.

“Tim, before we talk about anything else, I would like to tell you how…” and he stops. Tim’s mind offers up things Bruce might be wanting to tell him. That he was so disappointed in Tim, or that Jason has escaped the cage Dick swore he was contained in. The possibilities were endless. When he thinks about Jason out there, free and hunting Tim down he thinks about just flinging himself out onto the street. Even if the impact wouldn’t kill him, another vehicle might…

“Tim.” Bruce goes on while Tim panics. “We are all so very sorry we never noticed how you were suffering. We are. But this stops now. Alfred has planned you a bland diet as prescribed by Doctor Thompkins and we will make sure you gain back all the weight you have lost.”

Tim nods. So this is all about his body. That’s… good. No Jason. Bruce would open with that if Jason escaped, right?

“As for… Tim. There is no easy way to say this.” Bruce stares him down with the saddest look Tim has ever seen on his face. He is… he looks at Tim like he is fragile. Weak. Like Tim hasn’t been doing things none of them could have stomached for so long. “Tim. We have talked with Jason, and Dick has… Dick has told us what you told him, and…” Bruce looks down and wipes his face with a broad hand. He looks so defeated Tim doesn’t know what to do.

“He’s not out, is he?” Tim asks quietly. He knows his voice shakes with absolute, bone-chilling terror, but he can’t help it.

Bruce sighs. It’s a heavy sigh that… Tim doesn’t know what it means, just that it must mean a lot, coming from Bruce. And as his adoptive father begins to talk, he sort of understands.

“For months now, we thought you and Jason were dating. I caught you one night as you were leaving and confronted Jason. He was… elated. Over the moon, so I didn’t have in my heart to stop it. He kept me updated on where you were in the world when I couldn’t get a hold of you. He… Tim, _you have to understand._ He wasn’t aware he came off as threatening, he thought you said yes of your own free will.”

 _No._

Tim draws back, afraid Jason got hold of them all. _He tricked them!_ He achieved the impossible and has Bruce under his thumb!

“He’s still in the cage,” Bruce tells him quietly. “Under suicide watch.”

“What.”

“He didn’t know. We… we had to go over the details, so we showed him the recording Dick made of… what you said of the events. He was horrified that he hurt you.”

Tim wants to scream. He whimpers instead and tries to crawl back into the car’s upholstery. Why would they believe that?! Why would they believe Jason over Tim?!

“Tim. He was the one who told us you were unwell. He was the one who asked _me_ to talk to you, because you wouldn’t talk to him. He asked me to meet him, just so someone would make sure you were all right. The night before the Arkham breakout.”

“No!” Tim yells. He yells. It’s instinctive and he can’t… won’t…

“Tim.” Bruce says and lays a gentle hand on his knee. It’s the first time Bruce has touched him since Arkham. “All we ask is that you look him in the eyes. He is in the cage, still. He cannot, _will not_ hurt you, I swear. If he tries, we will be there to stop him.”

Tim nods. If Jason is out and the others are his pawns, Tim has nowhere to run. But if, by some miracle, they are telling the truth… He’ll believe it when he sees it.

He, to his biggest surprise, has dozed off amidst the terror. He wakes up in the garage as Dick gently unclasps his seatbelt. He gives Tim a fortifying smile and offers a strong hand to pull him up.

Tim sways gently. Even though he had multiple transfusions, he still feels like swooning just from standing up. Sudden movements make him sick. It will be nice to lay him down soon. He hopes. If the others are telling the truth…

He lets Dick lead him to the lesser used part of the cave (that Tim has mapped out long ago, obviously) until they reach the cage. Bruce is already standing there, and so is Alfred. Leaning against the cage’s door he can see Steph, who has an arm through one of the slots and is trying to drag a darker shape out.

Tim recognizes that shape. It used to be a little more menacing and not shying away from Tim’s very presence.

He steps closer, Dick at his side like a guard dog ready to tear into anybody who threatens his master. It’s more reassuring than anything Tim can think of. So he shuffles closer until the glass stops reflecting the lights and he can see inside.

Jason looks bad. He looks like hell warmed over. Tim didn’t think anybody but him could wear that title, but maybe this time Jason qualifies. His eyes are bloodshot as they trail over Tim’s figure, skittering away when they almost meet by sheer coincidence. His hands are bruised, knuckles red and smeared with dried blood. His hair looks like a rat’s nest, his clothes splattered with dark droplets that must be more of his blood.

He isn’t hulking anymore. He’s slouching, curling up like he had been kicked by Tim’s sheer presence. His face is wan, almost white, and it’s jarring.

As Tim steps closer, he makes an aborted movement as if he is trying to press a hand against the glass door, but jerks back. He doesn’t look intimidating. He looks pathetic. Tim peers at him to catch any tells… And then he stops.

“I can’t apologize. There is _no_ apology good enough for what I’ve done.” He says. His voice carries, but it’s not Jason’s voice, not really. Tim is intimately familiar with Jason’s voice. It’s loud and boisterous and so… lively. This Jason sounds wooden. His voice is nothing but a death rattle. “I can’t say anything to defend myself. I thought I asked you out, that you said yes, and I have been so happy. So… excited that you were willing to give me the time of day that I didn’t _look…_ I thought you were like that. Reserved, quiet. That you liked your personal space and didn’t have time for me.”

His voice trails into nothing, and Tim is left standing there. Nobody really looks at him. Just Jason, and he doesn’t, daren’t look Tim in the eye, either.

The silence is deafening.

“You wouldn’t have killed my friends?” Tim asks hesitantly after a while.

Jason chokes on an ugly, wet laugh. “No. I gave up killing criminals so Bruce would talk to me. I… I would _never_ hurt your friends.”

Tim nods.

“Nor our family?”

“Of course not. Can you imagine me coming up to murder them all? I mean Bruce I could have imagined in my worst pit-rage days, but can you really imagine me coming over to just… kill Alfred? Dami? In cold blood? Is that really-” he breaks off in a sob.

That’s the first time Tim thinks that perhaps he misjudged the situation. That perhaps he was wrong. That maybe…

“You-you said I was so tiny you could crush me. A lot.” He asks and he knows he is grasping, but it scared him a lot back then and he needs to know. He _has_ to know if he is to form a clear picture.

Jason laughs again. It’s ugly, so ugly and self-deprecating as he says “I liked how tiny you were. I like tiny but scary things. Like my guns. Like you. I liked that you were twice as vicious as me but I could just pick you up like nothing.”

“Size kink.” Steph mutters, but shuts up at the face of incredulous looks. “Sorry, sorry!”

Jason sighs. “Yeah, I like them tiny and scarily efficient. It’s a thing.”

Tim mulls that one over.

“So when you said you would leave me at the stake…”

He can see Jason is slowly getting agitated as he starts almost vibrating in the glass cage without space to run away. Tim is slowly beginning to understand that these questions… perhaps they should not be asked in front of so many people, but he has to know.

“I said, and I remember it clearly because _I memorized it all_ , I was so nervous I thought I would make an utter fool of myself…” Jason sighs. “I said I would leave you alone.”

“Alone,” echoes Tim. He swears he did not hear that word, no. But he hardly heard anything when that thing started roaring.

Could this thing be really this easy? Has this been so simple and yet complex? Have they really misunderstood each other that badly?

He stalks up to the cage. The people around them jerk, but they don’t try to stop Tim. Jason does jerk back, jumping into the air and scampering until Tim has to sigh and slap a palm against the glass door to get his… feelings across.

“Get back here.” He demands. He knows he is… perhaps what he is doing to Jason is horrible. After all Tim… No. After all Jason thought they were dating. Could this be so simple as an unfortunate misunderstanding?

As Jason shuffles closer, hesitant and curled around himself to look as non-threatening as he could possibly get, Tim takes a good, long look at him.

He lets go of every thought he had about Jason, from the moment he learnt that he was Robin, to the point of now. He looks at him, takes in his eyes, his expression, his body language.

“You thought I was your boyfriend.” He says quietly.

Jason nods.

“You…” he breaks off. He thinks about the offers of movies and cooking and all the things Jason mocked him with. “When you offered to cook for me or watch a romantic movie, that was not a joke or a dig at me?”

Jason gives him a look, a look that Tim can understand without words. ‘Were you dropped on your head as a child?’ he can almost hear. Before Jason reins it in.

“Of course not!” Jason says indignantly. “I like to cook! Ask Alfred. And I really wanted to just… curl up under a blanket with my boyfriend (who I thought was my boyfriend) and watch a movie.”

“Oh." He says, because what can he say to that? "You weren’t trying to hurt me at all.”

“No. _Never._ I thought you were happy with me. I thought we were happy. I _didn’t know._ I would never do something like that. Especially to someone I...” he chokes off and covers his face.

Tim swallows. He looks away to find Dick, who is crying. He looks over at Alfred who is rubbing at his eyes with a kerchief.

Was this really as easy as a simple misunderstanding?

“I… I can’t. I…” 

He sways.

Dick is suddenly at his side to wind an arm around him, and Tim is pulled away with a last, jarring look at an ashen-faced Jason with pain written clear on his face.

They take him up to his room to settle. Bruce stays with him, shooing Dick off with a “go stay with Jason now”, which doesn’t seem to please Dick, but he goes with a token grimace. Tim wants to interject, but he is too tired and uncertain of everything.

Bruce stays and sits beside Tim on his bed.

“Are you all right?” he asks Tim with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tim feels it encompassing his whole being, that warmth emanating from Bruce. It feels so good.

He nods, though he is a bit uncertain.

“Was it really just a misunderstanding?”

Bruce nods. “I do believe so, yes. A terrible one, that hurt you and scarred you both. But we will push forward and I will do my best to help you both. To help you both to get through this.”

Tim sags.

“I will… I will need to… Can I just think it over? Can I?”

“Take all the time you need, son. But know that I have… professionals to help you when you feel ready.”

Shrinks. Bruce has shrinks lined up for them.

So that means Bruce is absolutely certain Jason is telling the truth, Tim thinks. So all of this…

“It was all my fault?” Tim asks, choking up with emotion. He doesn’t know yet what emotion he feels, perhaps _all_ _of them_ at once. He just feels… too much.

Bruce pulls him against his broad chest in a heartbeat and hugs him tight, and loosens up almost immediately, remembering that Tim is frail and delicate now. Just what Tim always wanted to be. _Delicate._

“You both made mistakes. For that matter, we all did. We should have pressed you for more, but we thought you two were adults enough to handle what was going between you two.”

“Apparently not.” Tim quips. What else is he to do? He just learnt it was all in his head.

All he feared, all he cowered, and he could have just… put a stop to it. Just like that. He could have just said no to Jason. It’s all his fault for grossly misjudging the situation.

“We will fix this.” Bruce promises, and Tim can’t help but sink into that embrace and try to believe it.

He closes his eyes and believes that he can, perhaps one day, forget this all happened.

***

It takes a while before he feels ready for the psychologist.

For days he is coddled and hugged and loved and protected. Dick offers to sleep on the floor to guard him from Jason and Tim… for the first two nights accepts, with the condition that Dick takes one side of his enormous bed.

Jason doesn’t break out of his cage to murder them all.

Jason, in fact, doesn’t do anything besides trying to get himself done in, or cajole Bruce to let him out on patrol. It’s becoming clear to everybody in the Manor what a monumentally bad idea that would be.

Tim goes down to see him again that one time, almost two weeks after, just to see if he feels terror… but all he feels is rage. And pity. And disgust at himself, for he knows Jason is just as much a victim of this misunderstanding as Tim is.

He pleads with Tim, until it becomes clear that Tim doesn’t feel like letting Jason out to commit suicide via Joker (again), and then he starts threatening, but he looks too pathetic to get more out of Tim than a raised, incredulous eyebrow.

Tim goes back up without a word, listening to the heart wrenching sobs of Jason Todd, and decides he needs to see that psychologist, because that little twist of sick satisfaction is not healthy.

***

The psychologist is a tall woman. Her blond hair is pulled up into an elegant bun, her chiffon blouse is off-white, and she keeps tap-tapping on Tim’s thighs and arms until he flails, screams and runs into the bathroom in… Feelings. He doesn’t know, but he can’t stay there.

It causes a huge scandal when one of the Wayne heirs climbs out of a toilet window several stories up and escapes from a building known to offer psychiatric help.

Whoops?

But that evening, when Bruce admits defeat (this was the only psychologist he could find who specialized with vigilantes), Dick steps in.

“I know of someone in Blüdhaven. She is… a bit different, but I think it may work?” he looks beseechingly at Tim, who is still terribly traumatized from all the questions and the poking and the overwhelming physical contact, and he nods.

He is willing to try one more time. But only if Dick agrees to wait outside and take him home as soon as Tim wants to.

And that is how he finds himself in a community centre in a slightly decrepit building. The inside is homey with mismatched chairs and scratched (but clean) tables and Tim is made to wait (the Wayne heirs are made to wait!) until he is welcomed in by the tiniest woman he has ever seen.

The first thing he notices is that he can’t place her accent, nor her ethnicity. She looks like a particularly wrinkly raisin, and a bit like the hairless kitten Damian rescued just a few days before, that exasperates Alfred by sitting on any and every polished surface, leaving behind perfect little condensation circles in the shape of a cat’s anus.

He is so distracted trying to find comparisons she ends up doing some sort of hand-waving test until he can prove that he is still there, thank you, he just… his mind just flows sometimes. These days anyway. He used to be much better at reining his stray thoughts in. Before.

Before Jason.

Tim fears (expects) coddling and the removal of his autonomy and a long line of hoops he has to jump through when he agreed to see this shrink Dick found for him, but right at the start of their first session she proves to be much different than her predecessor.

Instead of uninvited touching and in-his-face poking and prodding, he gets this mystery of a tiny woman who spends their first session on quizzing Tim on his coping mechanisms, wastes no time in teaching him new ones, and starts digging (gently) into why Tim's first reaction was to think the worst of Jason Todd.

When Tim leaves, he feels wrung out and bulldozed, but in a good way. Dick glows with happiness, and even Bruce gives them both a hug (one each!) with glowing praises before he goes down to see to Jason.

“He won’t eat,” Tim overhears Alfred when they think he has left.

He crouches down to look back towards the kitchen over a potted plant without getting seen.

“He has more weight to lose than Tim did.” Dick says, tired.

“Master Richard!” Tim winces at the reproach he feels in the old butler’s voice.

Dick does, too. Tim can see him try to say something, and then he looks at Alfred and stops. He shakes his head with a grimace.

“I just can’t…”

“They were both at fault, Master Richard. It would do you well to remember that.”

Dick’s shoulders slump.

“I know, but it still makes me…” he groans. “I don’t know. I just… Tim is so… delicate. How could Jason _do that_ to him?”

“He believed he was in a loving relationship. We all did. Just a month ago, he asked me for the recipes of Master Timothy’s foods. He saw that the boy was getting thinner and he wished to, and I quote, “woo his babybird”. They were both very misguided in their feelings, but they were equally at fault. You are doing yourself a great disservice, if you think Master Jason is the only one to blame.”

Tim pulls back, barely hearing Dick’s chastened “I’m sorry.”

So Jason was really worried about him. He was so worried he wanted to make Tim eat something. Anything. No. Not anything, but Tim’s favourite dishes.

He goes up to his room to think more about this.

They do occupational therapy. Mara, his psychologist tells him to do whatever he wants, play with whatever he wants. Just do something with his hands.

It works.

Tim first throws himself at the Lego blocks, building a Death Star and an X-Wing, but then he grows bored. He has plenty of Legos in his Nest. It’s not new. No…

That’s when his eyes get drawn to a box of colorful yarn, that look so bright, soft and inviting, and assorted needles stored unceremoniously in a tall vase. The needles are mismatched and while the sizes do match, the ends… not really. Not that it matters, he thinks. 

He asks Mara if she knows how to start, and to his greatest amazement she doesn’t rebuff him. She doesn’t sigh or roll her eyes. Instead she holds out her hands for the yarn and needles, tells him which ones to pick when he selects the wrong sized ones, and then she shows him.

She unravels it when he tries to take the needle and tells him to try and mimic it. They do this until he can cast on. And then she lets him do whatever he can or cannot do. He is free to do as he wishes.

He does several rows before he notices how lopsided and holey it is. He stops talking and squints at it, trying to find what he did wrong. He can’t.

“Could you please give me directions?” he asks finally, throwing in the metaphorical towel.

"Knit it how you want to knit it. It's your..." she squints hard at the burgeoning, lumpy scrap of knit fabric in his hands before she looks back up at him and shrugs. "Scarf?"

It's the worst advice Tim's heard in all of his life until he stops to think about what she said and why. And then he knows it's the single best advice he has gotten in quite some time.

So he shrugs and begins forming it however he thinks it should be going, and has one of the best times he ever had in quite some time, pretending he knows how to knit.

That night he spends hours on the net. He watches cozy little videos of grannies knitting, of women on homey sets with coffee and a book (and a suspiciously lively-for-rubber potted plant) telling him a little about how knitting saved their life before they finally get down to the knitty gritty, until he has a firm grasp on the rules. He learns knitting and purling, he memorizes the difference between knit-two-together and slip-slip-knit, which are completely different joins, and he dives into yarn types and materials until his head spins, and the Gotham sky that never really goes dark, is getting brighter.

He can barely pry himself out of his chair to go to sleep, because he knows what he wants to do now. He is going to learn knitting!

The next day he goes on a shopping trip. He painstakingly researched the yarn stores in Gotham, cross-referenced them with the yarn types he decided he wanted with available stock and he has several stores he wants to hit.

Damian drives him. The official word is that Tim cannot be alone, ever, because of his ulcers (plural, because Tim has always been an overachiever) but they all know better. The family worries, Tim gets it. However he sees nothing problematic in taking Damian out of his own head a little, too, so Tim is more than happy to ride in the back, seatbelted to oblivion while the teen stares out closed-mouthed and morose through the windshield at the wet Gotham streets.

Tim knows he has also been impacted by this thing that happened. Damian, being the smallest and possibly the most well-adjusted of them all was pushed to the side so Bruce could spend more time with his broken sons, along with Alfred and Dick. Tim knows the boy would have been more than happy to lash out at Tim for being ignored if he didn’t know what had happened to him.

Isn’t it sad that even Damian treats him like expensive china?

No matter. Tim thinks Damian, who spent too much time among only with his animals as company, could do well with some yarn therapy, too. This is why he wastes no time dragging him in by his arms to step into a world of fluff and colour.

The teenager stands out like a sore thumb in his expensive suit in the colorful, eclectic yarn shop. There are bright, knitted and crocheted fabrics affixed to the shelves, little swatches of what the finished work would (should) feel like from each yarn type, and Tim runs his hands over them all, soaking up the energy of the store, of the people, of the chatty owner who hangs around and chatters excitedly when she realizes she has a male knitter on her hands, and a beginner to boot!

Damian tries to melt into the shelves as he is surrounded by women who suddenly want his intake on what colour he likes best and what he thinks would suit them. Tim leaves him to it while he drops ball after ball and cake into his little basket. It fills up way too fast. He has to drop his first basket off with a frazzled Damian and go for a second to select needles and yet more of those yarn cakes that change colour after a long while. He is already thinking about knitting sweaters for Chicken, the naked cat, who gets cold fast in the chilly Manor.

He chats some more with the shop assistant before he swipes his card and receives his purchases, along with gifts! He pries a dazed Damian out of the clutches of excited women and gives him a bag to carry. He looks around the shop one more time, trying to soak in all the bright, happy colours before he exits into rainy, washed-out Gotham. He knows he will be back, and soon.

“Where to?” Damian asks quietly when he helps Tim put his purchases away.

Tim considers the merits of visiting another store when he already has so much yarn to knit, and decides… next time.

“Back to the Manor.” He tells Damian and sits down onto the backseat, smiling.

Chicken gets a rainbow-coloured coat that’s lopsided and a bit frilly, but it’s made from soft merino wool and he looks like he’s happy in it.

Tim is oddly touched by the “thank you, Drake” Damian quietly throws his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo-hoo, one more chapter!


	6. Jason Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gets therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember how I said I won't raise the chapter count again? I totes lied, I'm so sorry. Bionerd2point0, the shining platonic light of my life told me Jason needed his own chapter, and she was right.
> 
> So there will be one more chapter, hopefully with some sexytimes thrown in there.
> 
> But. 2 things:  
> 1: thank you all for all the lovely comments, I swear I will try to answer all of them!
> 
> 2: guys. Guys. Bold of you to assume the happy ending will be healthy and sane. I mean... have you guys considered the stuff I write?
> 
> Honestly though, I'll try to make it as sane and happy as I can, ok? :)

Tim came down to see him twice.

The first time Jason was still trying. The pain back then was still fresh and jarring and the shock hadn't worn off. He begged for Tim’s forgiveness, to be let out, so Tim could get avenged. Once, just the once he also asked, offered Tim to kill Jason himself… but he refused.

At least Tim wasn’t afraid of him. Not really, anyway. He was ashen-faced but grim as he stared Jason down, until it turned into a cold, creeping pity. _That_ was horrible to watch as it consumed that beloved face and Jason, to his horror, lashed out, hoping that would wipe that look clean off, or perhaps that’d have Tim open that damned door…

He didn’t.

The second time Tim visited him happened later. A few days later, perhaps weeks? Jason didn’t know. By then he didn’t care to count the days. What use would it have been?

This time Tim didn’t fear him at all. He kicked over Jason’s books and gawked at his spot in the corner like Jason was some rare animal. And throughout it all, his face was mild. Detached, with a hint of _pity._

Right until the time he left.

By that time Jason’s cage was open, offering free entry to all.

Bruce tore the door off when Jason refused to come out or eat. Jason didn’t care. He still doesn’t, unless he is poked or prodded and made to eat while someone always watches. There is always someone watching him until he just gives in and eats. Just so they leave him alone in peace.

Jason says yes to therapy because he has no alternative. He can’t get himself beaten up or killed. He can’t suffer through more stilted talk from Bruce, can't stand Dick’s flinty, accusing eyes. And he definitely can’t stand more _pity_ from _Drake._

And because there is a naked cat that looks like a plucked chicken that likes to sleep on Jason’s cot. It yowls in the most pitiful way whenever Jason tries to nudge it away, and he breaks down crying every time he hears that heartbreaking mewl. Because he just… he can’t hurt anybody again. Not even the cat, who he calls Chicken. Who looks at him with accusing eyes like he stole his spot, but will lick his face and neck when Jason curls up on the ground, sobbing.

The cave floor is cold, and hard... and Jason just... He wants to believe Bruce that it’s not all his fault. That they can make him feel all right again.

***

The psychologist is tall. They are almost the same height, is what Jason notices about her first. She also makes him promise her he won’t leave via the toilet window, which is oddly specific. It’s very intriguing after weeks of living in his own head, so he agrees on the spot in hopes of hearing more.

Honestly, that opening question is odd enough that Jason feels weirdly comfortable in there. Then he wonders if that was spun with him in mind, so he would relax. _Damn,_ he thinks, but she’s _good._

He sits down on the couch, wincing when it creaks and cracks under his weight, probably not used to someone with Jason's sheer bulk sitting on it. When he glances up at… Bunny, who is way too close to be proper and Jason scoots back fully onto the thing, and it _groans,_ she just waves it off.

“It’s seen worse.” she reassures him. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

Jason blinks. People don’t tend to ask him, they just lay into him for any and all things. This is an oddly pleasant change, people asking him if they _may, please_ touch him. He is slowly warming up to therapy.

“Sure,” he says, bewildered. “Go ahead?”

She goes ahead all right. She pokes him, prods him and taps him while she keeps asking her questions until he feels raw, flayed open and curls up into a little ball, snarling and screaming for a moment of peace. And then he sobs into the cushions and talks and talks and talks until he has no voice left.

He doesn’t feel much better, he feels like an open wound, yawning open for all to peer inside it with nowhere to hide… oh wait that analogy got away from him. So he stops thinking. He turns to Bruce, who took time from his busy schedule to come with him, and just wait for hours, and he just walks, putting one foot in front of the other until they collide and he latches on, hugging his adoptive father and clings to him like he hasn’t done for… for a truly long time now.

“It’s all right, son.” Bruce says gently, wetly, and squeezes Jason harder. “It’s going to be all right, you’ll see!

It’s good. He can barely let go, but it makes him feel… better. Safer. A little bit at least.

He doesn’t feel brave enough to go up into the Manor proper, so he goes back into his cage, his doorless cage, since Bruce cut it off with power tools like some sort of hillbilly madman when Jason refused to come out.

It’s fine though. He has his books, his food and he even has cats who steal his spot.

That night he awakens choking. When he jackknifes up in his bed, Pennyworth hangs onto his face with his sharp little claws dug deep until Jason swipes him off, still half-asleep and groggy. He stares incredulously at the flashing green eyes and the miffed hiss.

“Did you just try to choke me?!”

The cat licks a bloody paw and stares at him in silent challenge.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m talking to a cat. Good thing I have a shrink now I guess!”

Pennyworth squints up at him before he turns around and leaves the cage, tail flicking. Because everybody can get into Jason’s space. For the first time he thinks about moving back into his room that has an actual _door_ to keep people _and animals_ out.

He turns back to his bed to find a dead, bloody bat next to his pillow and he jerks back in surprise. As he leans closer he can see it’s still moving a bit, albeit sluggishly.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groans as he makes the decision.

He scoops up the sad little mammal and stalks out of his cell, sliding to a screeching halt when he spots Chicken trotting up to him with what looks like a dead rat in his mouth that’s almost as big as he is.

“Jesus,” he breathes out as he watches the spectacle, until the cat stops and drops the dead rat at Jason’s feet. It’s… very dead, Jason can see it from where he’s standing. “Is the brat starving you or something?” he mutters as he crouches down to scritch under the cat’s skinny head. “Dude, great job. That’s some serious hunting.”

Chicken just blinks up at him and begins to purr, enjoying the attention. When Jason stands, he meows and nudges the rat with a paw so it rolls closer to Jason.

When he realizes that the cat brought the rat for _him,_ and not for himself, Jason is so bowled over he finds himself on the ground next to the dead rat, sobbing with the cat in his arms, the bat struggling in a loose fist. Because he forgot all about the wounded bat. _Shit._

He can’t even go to fucking pieces without somebody else’s life hanging in the balance.

He stands up with the cat in the crook of his arm and walks out until he spots Alfred and Damian, who is quietly doing his homework in a corner. They both look at him, eyes round like they saw a ghost until he stalks over to the kid to drop the struggling bat in his hands.

“Your cats think I’m a bad hunter.” he tells the boy who fumbles the animal that’s struggling harder.

Damian stands and shoots a look at Alfred. “I’ll go find the emergency vet.” But he is already running before he is done, and before he hears Alfred’s reply.

The old man shakes his head and looks up at Jason. Really looks. And then he smiles with his whole body as he reaches over to smooth a wrinkled hand over Chicken’s back.

“He is a curious little fellow,” he remarks.

Jason nods. He’s aware he has teartracks running down his face, so he wipes at them, now that he has a hand free.

“Maybe I should move back into my room,” he says hesitantly as he watches the live feed of Batman and two robins taking down some criminals. “Chicken is probably too cold down here.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow as he mouths 'chicken' back at him before he nods. “He most certainly is.”

And that’s how Jason ends back up in his room, with two cats stealing the best spots, as cats tend to do. But he doesn’t mind that at all.

***

He's careful, religiously so, not to meet with Tim. He rarely leaves his room except for the psychologist visits and to grab more books from the library. He doesn’t leave his door open, but the cats find their way in anyway. There is always one purring away on his pillow or pinning down the blanket, but he finds that he doesn’t mind them at all. Their purring and snuggling is a constant source of comfort in his life now.

Alfred, or someone from his family brings him his meals, staring him down until he starts shoveling it in in front of their very eyes. He hardly ever goes to the kitchen, unless it is empty except for Alfred. That is, until they discuss his relationship, or at least what he thinks he had with Tim with Bunny.

“You have too much to deal with, and you are drowning in emotions, unsure which way to turn. So we will deal with them one by one. First: your relationship never had a proper end. You need closure,” Bunny tells him. “What you had, what you thought you had with your partner was completely real for you, but it never really ended, just disappeared. In all of that confusion and commotion, you never had time to grieve that loss. You should do it now. Go ahead and dive in, let the loss wash over you and then let it go. Live the loss and get past it.”

Jason didn’t even think of that, but she is right. That afternoon he gets down to the kitchen, sticks his head into the freezer and fishes out a tub of ice cream. He grabs a spoon, finds the sunny spot not currently taken by any of Damian’s growing animal horde (the kid is turning into a legit Disney princess) and starts eating ice cream as he reads.

Dick finds him when he is more than halfway done, giving him a look Jason can’t and won’t decipher. Weeks ago Bunny gave him homework: stop trying to guess (and assume) what others think or want from him. Let them come and express themselves. Let them come to him.

This is really the first time he can try it, and he is… he is trying hard. He nods at Dick and eats another spoonful. Not guessing. Nope. _Nuh-uh._ He is still ready to bolt out of there, he’s ready to throw the tub in Dick’s face if he has to.

Dick, after he takes his fill, grabs a spoon and sits down across from him, stealing a chunk.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, trying very hard to be nonchalant.

“I'm eating my feelings,” Jason tells him.

Dick’s mouth twitches. “Should I grab you a few more of these?”

Jason squints at him. “Thanks, I think I’m fine with just this one.”

Dick nods and steals another spoonful. Jason pushes the tub closer to the middle. There is no shame in admitting defeat, and a tub of ice cream for one person is a bit too much.

“So how are things?” Dick asks him.

Jason answers with a raised eyebrow.

“No, really,” insists Dick.

He shrugs. “I have a shrink. We’re trying to work through… _everything._ Last night I dreamt I woke up in my flat in bed, cuddling with my adorable boyfriend, Tim, who assured me the nightmare I had of raping him would never be true, and when I woke up I cried for hours wanting to _die._ There are two cats who can ninja their way into my closed room and steal my pillows and duvet. One of them looks like a plucked chicken, and donated a real bat to Damian’s misfit horde of broken familiars. The other one likes to sleep _on_ my face and suffocate me, so hey, I might get killed after all! On a side note, I only break down like a dozen times a day to cry uncontrollably. It’s really fun, you should try it sometime.”

Dick blinks at him, spoon raised to his open mouth, frozen. “Uhhh…”

“No,” Jason says morosely. “Seriously, don’t try it. It _sucks_.”

He can see, when he looks up, that Dick is lost for words. Jason doesn’t know what to think. Dick hasn’t been all that nice to him thus far, Jason has picked up on the angry stares and glares, but Bunny told him not to assume, so he doesn’t. He’s still ready to bolt, but he _is_ giving Dick time to get out whatever he clearly is trying to work up to.

“Jason…” Dick says, and stops.

Jason puts down the spoon and looks up at his big brother. Dick opens his mouth and closes it. He looks stricken.

“You…” he falls quiet again and Jason still waits. “ _You_ named the cat Chicken?” is what Dick finally says.

“I mean it makes sense?” Jason says defensively. “He really looks like a plucked chicken. And when he curls up, I swear he looks like raw chicken ready for the oven. That poor asshole got tenderized by the ugly stick, but he has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.”

Dick stares at him with emotion Jason can’t name. “I thought you preferred dogs?”

“Yeah. Me too. I thought _a lot of things,_ Dickie.”

And that’s what makes Dick wince.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I’m sorry that I could only see Tim’s side of the story. When he… when he told me what you did I believed that you would, that you _could._ And I still thought it was your fault after… after even Tim forgave you. I’m so sorry, Little Wing. I hope you can forgive me.”

Jason waves it away. What can he do? Blame Dick for thinking what pretty much everybody in the world always thinks of him? That Jason is big, and scary, and therefore he has to be bad? Story of his life. Nothing to see here, move along, please.

Obviously he was overjoyed when tiny Tim thought the world of him. And then of course that’s what crushed him almost as much as having hurt Tim… That Tim thought that Jason was out to hurt him. That Jason…

The spoon makes a racket when it hits the table the wrong way and it bounces down to the floor. Jason doesn’t give a shit though, he is already curled up into a ball and sobbing, because it _hurts._ He wants to scamper into a corner to feel safer but he can’t.

The next moment a warm hand lands on his shoulder and he snarls, throwing a fist out that hits nothing but air. The hand is gone and it’s better, but not _good enough_ and he backs up and drops onto the floor with his back against the kitchen island as he sobs uncontrollably until he can barely breath and has to gasp for oxygen.

It takes him a while to get himself back under control, but it’s not his first rodeo. He chants the mantra Bunny always tells him in his head, and it helps. 'You’re not responsible for what other people think or do' has never been something he dared to think, because it sounded like he _blamed_ Tim, and he would _never_ … But now it’s his safety net and the driftwood keeping him afloat.

When he opens his eyes Dick is crouching from a safe distance away in front him, face white as a sheet looking terribly worried. Jason feels bad for feeling a sort of grim satisfaction for having shaken Dick this much. A sick part of him hopes Dick will feel bad now that he knows how Jason feels pretty much all of the time.

“Do you… What can I do?” Dick asks finally, when he realizes Jason won’t start talking.

Jason uses his shirt to dry his face and spots his spoon a few steps away.

“Grab me another spoon?

Dick’s worried face slowly melts into uncertainty and then a sort of… kindness Jason hardly ever sees directed at him. His older brother swallows and then nods, eager like a puppy.

“You got it.”

He finds a spoon, picks up the other to drop it among the dirty cutlery and then he offers Jason a hand up like it’s nothing. Jason takes it, and he is pulled up effortlessly into a gentle hug before the new spoon is pressed into his hand and he is let go.

Dick goes back to sit across from him, peering into the slowly melting tub of ice cream.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

Jason blinks at him and then shrugs. “Told you. I break down like a dozen times to cry. _A day._ This is nothing new or special. Don’t read anything into it.”

And now Dick looks stricken.

“I didn’t know. Jay, I’m so sorry!”

Jason eats another big scoop so he can think about his reply. It didn’t feel good that Dick thought the worst of him, but he understands that Tim needed someone to believe in him and stand by him like Bruce did and still does with Jason. The looks he got from Dick didn’t do Jason any favours, but it’s not like he had been all that kind to himself either, especially in the beginning.

Over all, he decides, that what Dick did now, now that he knew, that mattered more to him. Because it hurt, of course it fucking hurt that his older brother thought the worst of him, but now Dick is ready to make it better. He has to be… right?

“So you’re not gonna be an asshole to me anymore?” he asks Dick, because Dick still needs to express himself here a little more for Jason to give a verdict. (Damn, but his shrink is _awesome_.)

Dick’s face goes through a lot of feelings before he settles on sadness, and Jason is so glad to see that arm drop before it can really reach out for him because he is still raw from his 'episode' from moments ago and _doesn’t want to be touched._ It’s good that Dick gets that Jason is _delicate,_ because Jason can’t be trusted not to lash out (read: punch hard and at random) at anybody when he is distressed. It’s a thing. He is just amazed he hasn’t clocked Bunny yet, though he bets she could take it. From what he has seen of her, she is in excellent shape, suspiciously so.

“I’m not going to be ‘an asshole’ to you, I _swear_.” Dick tells him solemnly in a suspiciously shaky voice.

“Then you’re forgiven,” Jason tells him. “Just don’t start crying or you’ll set me off again and then we’ll both be completely useless.”

Dick nods and pulls the ice cream tub closer to scoop up the melted bits from the bottom.

Together they finish the monstrosity in companionable silence and Jason is feeling pretty good by the end.

***

Chicken has a sweater. Jason stares at him from across the room as he gets in, stunned. It’s all bright colours and absolutely lopsided, but Chicken looks happy and Jason can hear him purring from where he is standing over the threshold.

He closes the door and pads closer. He isn’t sure why he is feeling… threatened? Cautious in his own space. He is expecting someone to pop out from hiding behind his bed or… he opens his cupboard, but nope, it’s empty.

Whoever dressed Chicken is long gone, if they ever entered his room. These days he is fiercely protective of it, even though he knows he’s being unreasonable. Nobody but Alfred comes in uninvited, and even then he’s always done so, so it’s kind of a given.

But still. His room is his safe space, just like Bunny says. He only feels safe here if nobody comes in without his say so.

He sits down next to Chicken, careful not to cut off the last rays of the sun peeking through his window that the cats are basking in and strokes a hesitant hand down the sweater.

It’s soft like butter. The material is not even, it looks like someone’s first try at knitting or crochet or something. It’s still nice though. He feels touched knowing someone took the time to make Chicken feel more comfortable.

And apparently that’s more than enough to release the floodgates and he flops down on the dark side of his bed to cry into the pillows, because he hasn’t cried enough today yet. It’s stupid. It’s very, very stupid, but he can’t stop himself from leaking at every opportunity. He’s never felt more like the heroine of a Bronté novel.

***

Therapy… well it doesn’t make him magically healed all at once. But Bunny helps him work out a lot of kinks and bad habits he has had since he was a kid, and newer ones too. They talk about anything and everything Jason is feeling, and even that helps.

Because Jason has always felt that his voice never got heard. Bruce never believed him that he didn’t kill that rapist - he really, honestly jumped. When he saw Robin and knew Batman was on the way, he jumped all by himself. Jason didn’t need to help it along. He maybe would have, but now they will never know.

Jason always felt he wasn’t good enough, perfect enough, worthy enough, and all of these feelings are brought forth and discussed at length and it makes him raw in so many new ways it’s staggering.

But it feels better after. It also helps that Dick is finally treating him like a human being, though perhaps he is leaning towards fine-bone china at times that makes Jason give him a look that never fails to make Dick grin back at him sheepishly, and it’s good.

It’s great.

So Jason decides to brave the outside world. Not… the outside outside, just the Manor outside his room. The first place he spends time in, is obviously the Library. He puts away the books he has read so many times he could quote them and browses for new ones. He pulls out something he has not read before, some sort of fantasy thing that’s a cheap paperback, and games to sit down to read it.

He is brought up short when he sees that his usual reading nook is filled with yarn and knitting needles. He isn’t sure who has started a new hobby, thinks maybe Steph, since she has the skills for it. He leans down to sort through the yarns, all soft and some fuzzy, but every last ball colorful and bright, the sort of cheerful he himself would pick.

He puts them all back like he found them and walks away to settle down somewhere else. He respects others’ spaces. Still, he makes a note to ask Steph if she is the one who makes more and more elaborate sweaters for Chicken to wear.

The next day, he joins Damian on a walk with Brutus and Ace, just strictly inside the gates, but there is plenty of property to roam. They bring frisbees and balls and have a great time. Damian doesn’t talk much, and none of it biting, and the dogs slobber over Jason like they know he needs a little puppy therapy.

Jason doesn’t breach the subject of the cats until they are walking back, their shadows growing bigger as they are framed from the back by the rust coloured sky. The sun is still warm on their skin, enough that Jason pulls off his sweater and ties it around himself. He hasn’t been feeling too warm for a while now, but this is a welcome change. He thinks he will be out, joining Damian on his walks more often, if the kid would have him.

“Hey…” he says and clears his throat. His voice is still a bit husky from talking too long earlier in the morning. “So… Uh. Sorry about stealing your cats, kid.”

Damian gives him a look that is way too wise for his age. “You need them more than I do, Todd. I have many animals who require my care. It is better that they bother someone who has more time for them than I do.”

Jason, on an impulse, reaches over and ruffles Damian’s hair.

“Thanks, kid. You’re a peach.”

“Also I can’t stand the idea of owning a cat called Chicken.” Damian tells him with his nose in the air, but his lips are twitching, and Jason can’t help himself.

Laughter roars out of him, and he has to stop to hold his stomach, because he can’t hold it in. It’s not even the most hilarious thing he’s heard. He just has to laugh, because the thing he is feeling is so warm and big, he needs to let it out.

Damian waits him out with a gentle smile, the dogs wagging their tail in vague excitement as they run back and forth between them and the Manor.

“Thanks, Damian,” he tells the kid on parting when he goes up to his room.

He flops face-first into his bed and lets the cats sniff at him and knead with gentle claws into his back until they settle down, purring against his shoulders.

He thinks he finally got the hang of things.

***

That’s of course when things tilt sideways.

He decides to watch a movie. Bruce is away on business, now that he thinks Jason can survive a day without his presence, Damian is in school, and Alfred is in the kitchen putting together something that already smells divine.

So Jason decides it is the best time to watch Pride and Prejudice on the big screen in the media room. He has a few sandwiches, a huge mug of steaming herbal tea, a fuzzy blanket and 2 cats purring in his lap, curled up as he is on the couch, so he is feeling pretty well. He starts the movie.

He is half an hour in and fighting two cats for his sandwich when he sees movement from the corner of his eye.

He turns, letting the cats drag his arm down and chew at his sandwich and fingers both as he stares at Tim, who is standing on the threshold with a bag of yarn clutched against his chest, eyes huge as he stares at Jason and his misfit cats.

“I’m sorry I thought it was Dick in here.” He says quietly and hesitates. “I… Would you mind if I stayed? I mean… Only if I won’t bother you, of course.”

Jason is lost for words. Or more like he doesn’t know what to say of the many things that would readily spring to his tongue. His first instinct is to get up and run, but he has two cats, a plate, and a sandwich balanced on his lap, all in precarious positions and he knows he wouldn’t be fast enough.

Tim must see it though, because his hesitant smile droops and begins to look more and more like the pity Jason _hates_.

That’s why he replies with “it’s fine, you can stay. It’s your house too. Figures you’d only want to watch a movie with me _now_.”

Tim looks absolutely stricken, and Jason wants to apologize to him but ‘sorry’ sticks to the roof of his mouth and refuses to be uttered.

“I didn’t mean it like that” he tries, but Tim is all grim determination now as he marches in and sits down into the armchair closest to the door and furthest from Jason and his merry cats who are now tearing the sandwich apart for every trace of bacon and ham.

“Look, I’m really…” Jason tries, but ‘sorry’ is perpetually stuck now.

Tim shakes his head. “I get it. But could we maybe spend some time together? Just to get used to each other’s presence? Like two, normal people?”

Jason shrugs and then yowls when Chicken begins to knead at his inner thighs with his claws out.

“Jesus, Chicken, you’re a fucking menace!” he hisses as he pries the cat off and pulls him closer and away from the sensitive parts of his anatomy.

He is scared to look up and see that Tim has scampered off, scared of the loud commotion, but when he does look up he sees Tim settled in and turned towards the screen, needles in hand as he is knitting something that looks like another…

_Ah._

“He really likes the coats,” he says quietly. “So thanks for that.”

Tim lights up at that, and it _hurts_. It feels like his heart is breaking into a million little pieces because his Tim, the Tim he got never smiled for him. Not like that, and even though he knows now that it was all a lie, he still feels robbed. Bitter.

He turns away and doesn’t listen to Tim’s quiet “my pleasure” nor any other noises from him. From then on, he doesn’t drink, doesn’t eat. He concentrates only on his cats and his breathing like he learnt, and when the movie is over he stalks out, not taking a single glance at Tim, mug and sandwich be damned, the cats trailing after him.

When he gets to his room he tries to calm down and be reasonable, but can’t. He realizes he is having a minor panic attack when he hears a soft knock at the door that he ignores until it doesn’t come again, and he slowly calms down enough to think rationally again. His rational brain tells him he needs help, and now.

So he dials the number he got from Bunny for emergencies, and he spends half an hour on the phone, devising defense strategies and mechanisms to help him survive Tim, who is more like the Tim he always wanted, right at his fingertips.

The next day he goes back. This time he is watching Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, just to groan and throw popcorn at the screen for going entirely off-script, and he is very proud of himself when he doesn’t even twitch when Tim shuffles in and sits in his spot again. This time he is ready, even though he has no cats to ground him.

Tim doesn’t talk. Perhaps he realized his blunder, that Jason is not yet healed enough for whatever he is expecting of the older Robin, perhaps he just isn’t in a chatty mood. Either way, it’s… better.

The movie is godawful and trashy, it makes Jason waste too much popcorn, and is bad enough to pull his attention away from the young man sitting just a few metres away from him. He thinks from now on he is only watching movies that will engage him enough to steal his attention away from uninvited guests.

He gives Tim a single nod when he leaves, and he in turn doesn’t press the issue.

And it works. Jason is slowly getting used to Tim. It’s gruelling work, because Tim is finally doing the things Jason always wanted to do together with him, and it _hurts._ But he is getting through it. Bunny’s suggestion to mourn the relationship, to realize that it has ended, is helping tremendously.

Roping Dick to sit between them helps, too. He is always a good sport, eager to watch fantasy, action or chick flick. Jason feels much better with him in there with them, between them to diffuse the situation.

Until Tim, bold and monumentally stupid (or so Jason thinks,) walks up and sits his dainty ass down right next to Jason.


	7. The Ending Is Nigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The batfam is all kinds of fucked up, but it's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know very few people actually read this, but bionerd2point0 has been my shining light and rubber duck and beta, though all my typos are mine and mine alone. But without her, you wouldn't have the ending.
> 
> Also I'm sorry about the delay, but I wanted to write this as believable as possible.  
> I can't believe this damn thing that started as porn ended up being... a completely different thing. I still hope you guys like it! (Also thank you so much for all the lovely reviews, I read them all and love them!!!)
> 
> Oh and one more thing! If I don't instantly update it usually means I'm either stuck on something or swamped by irl stuff... or my depression acting up, but I do tend to eventually power through things. I usually write better when I want to, and not when I force myself, though. Just saying. ;)

It's the cats who give him the idea, when he tries to squeeze in between them on his own damn bed and can't even wrangle the damn covers from under them without prissy looks and heartbroken mewls. Even though they all know they will be squeezing themselves under the blanket to plaster themselves against Jason’s body for the extra warmth in two minutes or less.

“Don't you have your own room and bed?” he asks them and then he has to think, because huh, good question.

He comes up with no. They don't. The whole manor and the cave is theirs to roam, but they don't have their own safe space. Not the rabbits, the dogs or even Batcow. She has to live in the drafty, damp, sunless cave. That's no place for anything but bats and rats.

It’s no place for any of Damian’s little petting zoo.

So the next day, before therapy, Jason corners Bruce and gives him a serious look.

"Say, old man, could we build some sort of barn and pasture for the animals? I'm pretty sure we don't need a permit for a smaller barn, something that’s just big enough for a cow and a goat. We can make a rack for the rabbit cages and anything else the kid might need. There’s more than enough room on the property, so it shouldn’t hurt. What do you say?"

Bruce considers that for a while. For what feels like the first time in a very long time, he looks at Jason like they are on equal footing. Like he matters in his own right and isn’t delicate or insane or… in any way less than.

He mulls it over. Jason can see him going back and forth over the details, and then gives a serious nod.

“I think that’s a very good idea. Maybe we could include extra space for future additions,” Bruce says and winces.

Jason gives him a commiserating grin. It’s well known that the newest, meanest Robin has a soft spot for animals. Small-time crooks have escaped capture by providing the boy with strays and abused pets. Most of them are too hurt for Damian’s expertise, and those get passed on to special charities Damian Wayne keeps donating serious money to, but some, like Billy the goat and a heavily pregnant momma cat who spends most of her time lazing on the demon prince’s personal bed, get to stay. And it’s clear they need a home base.

“Yeah. Make it big. Perhaps, once or twice a year we could get visitors, let the kid raise awareness about animal cruelty and responsible pet care. That should give him some positive PR and his own niche charity thing...” Jason trails to a stop when he realizes Bruce is staring at him almost open-mouthed. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Bruce snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head with a soft smile.

“No. Not at all. I’ll go find a contractor,” he says and is turning for his phone when Jason stops him with a hesitant hand on his shoulder. 

Bruce turns back immediately, frowning.

“Uh… Maybe I could help? Maybe we could do this with the kid, or you know, just the family?”

That suggestion nets him another look that he can’t really decipher.

“I mean they sell barn kits? I saw them on the net. They have good reviews. But they should be easy to put together and they seem good? Good reviews, affordable, easy to clean, the works. Folks keep raving about them. I mean we need to get the smallest one because we only have the one cow, but it should still be good?”

Bruce nods. “Yes. I think that’s a very good idea, Jason. Have you talked to Damian about it?”

Jason scratches his head, because no, he hasn’t. “I was hoping you would? Kid’s been on his best behaviour since this whole thing with... Tim. I was scared he would be angry that I was hogging you and Dickie, but…”

He sees the moment Bruce gets it. Realizes how little Damian has been on his mind in the last… month or so, Jason thinks. _Yikes._ Poor kid.

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll let him select the place of his animal kingdom,” Bruce says with a frown and walks off all distracted and deep in thought.

Jason is glad. Damian has been a surprisingly good dog walking partner and a non-partial bystander, and it feels good, because the kid is being surprisingly normal. Sure, he never was the kindest and mushiest of them all, but his coarseness, or perhaps rudeness is something Jason can appreciate now that nobody wants to be mean to him, not even a little.

Except Tim.

That stunt he pulled last night still has Jason shook.

Jesus, that was a serious clusterfuck. It took everything Jason had not to just hightail it out of there. Instead, he just stood up, stared incredulously at the young man, and went to the chair closest to the window and sat down, placing the bowl of popcorn he had on the only available seat next to him.

He couldn’t even talk at the time, he was so… he doesn’t even know what he was. Offended. Horrified. Pissed off? Yes, pissed off he definitely was. Also hurt and terrified. And mute. He couldn’t even voice his pain.

The others had said nothing, and Jason was glad that when he looked up and around he only saw looks aimed at Tim, and none at him. He probably would have just foregone the whole movie if it wouldn’t have garnered him more pitying stares or worse, curious ones.

He didn’t know what Tim was trying to achieve, nor did he care.

He was already dreading his talk with Bunny.

***

As always, Bunny gives him time to collect himself.

“Is there anything specific you want to talk about today?” she asks, and Jason can tell that she knows he is not feeling all right. Not by a long shot.

“Yeah. Last night when we were having a movie night Tim sat down right next to me.” He looks at her, but Bunny has her non-judgy face on. It’s hard to guess what she is thinking, so Jason just goes with it. “I stood up and walked to the furthest seat and blocked the one next to me. I couldn’t even ask him what the fuck he was trying to pull, I was too… raw.”

She nods. She waits, but he is done for the time being.

“All right Jason,” she says with a smile he knows all too well. “Let’s work on setting your boundaries.”

***

When Jason freezes, Tim thinks he might have fucked up.

When Jason goes white as a sheet and stands up to scramble away from him to the furthest point of the room, Tim definitely knows he’s fucked up. He knows he should have given Jason more time, since the man was way behind Tim in therapy. Since it was Tim who gave him the trauma in the first case.

No. No, it wasn’t just Tim. They did it together. He knows he absolutely shouldn’t shift the blame in either direction. They both did it. But still. This one’s on Tim.

He fucked it all up.

And he knows he is absolutely the guilty party here.

The thing is, when Tim sees how horrible Jason feels, how shaken and destroyed he is, Tim’s brain makes the switch. Not in the very first second he sees Jason suffering, no. But he definitely feels the dissonance between the Jason he sees in the cage and the one in his mind. They are the same shape, but they don’t act all that similar.

And then Tim is whisked off and up into the Manor and therapy and it’s nice. He’s safe and cared about. So Tim shoves the hulking mass of Jason into the back of his mind and slams the door closed on its face as he dives head first into healing his disjointed mind.

Then he sees Jason for the first time after that, rumpled and slouching, looking haunted as he ransacks the Library while Tim huddles in one of the reading nooks with a bag full of yarn and sharp knitting needles held as a weapon. But then he looks closer, and his hands just…droop. Because that man, haunted and trying his best to fold himself to occupy a smaller space than Tim… That’s not the same shape as the monster in Tim’s mind. That is when his mind flips the switch.

From then on, he actively tries to seek Jason out, to see him, the _real Jay_ for himself, but Jason is a very hard man to track down. He doesn’t go out to many places, but Tim is resolute, and a pro stalker.

He can also open doors really quietly, just to check if Jason is in the room. Sometimes Tim is lucky and he can see a broad back, or a pair of feet and a paperback held aloft, or even be stared down by a happily purring cat…

The cats were a surprise, though they only tolerate him because Tim aids their quest of getting inside Jason’s room at all costs. It’s sweet. Tim never thought of Jason as a cat person, and definitely didn’t think he was the owner of Chicken, but just a single look at them curled up in Jason's bed has Tim convinced beyond doubt. It also gives Tim heart palpitations. He never thought cats with a big burly man would make his heart squeeze in his chest, but here he is. It’s hurts, just a bit.

It’s good, too, because Tim has a plethora of cat sweater patterns, and he is finally getting good enough to make them look interesting. At first he just tries to fit it better to Chicken's body, so it isn’t ruffling up, but later on he starts experimenting with shapes, making onesies with the bottom area left free (lest the cleanup be very unpleasant.) It’s fun, and he likes Jason’s surprised smile at every new sweater.

Chicken tolerates Tim’s antics, clearly happy with the clothes and the attention. He even gives Tim a few headbumps and rubs around his shins, but that’s it. After thanking Tim, or what Tim takes as thanks, he scampers off to find Jason, because ultimately it is _his_ attention Chicken apparently craves, and Tim… 

Tim is slowly beginning to feel a weird, soft, warm feeling in his chest whenever he sees or even thinks of Jason.

It isn’t until Tim comes upon him in the media room, curled up under a blanket with two cats balanced on his lap as they fight for his sandwich that Tim looks at him, _really_ looks at him, all rumpled and soft and exasperated, and he feels fondness. And _want._ It slams into Tim in a surprising punch to the solar plexus.

That’s why he hesitates over the doorstep, having just walked in on a scene that feels too private and so wholesome and Tim wishes he had a camera.

“I’m sorry I thought it was Dick in here,” he says quietly, unsure how to proceed, faced with a rumpled, soft Jason, who stares at him with naked emotion. He looks so breakable Tim thinks perhaps he should leave while he can. Only he is selfish and he _wants,_ so he asks “I… Would you mind if I stayed? I mean… Only if I won’t bother you, of course.”

Jason is flabbergasted, but gracious enough, until he isn’t. The ‘figures you’d only want to watch a movie with me _now_ ’ burns in Tim’s chest, but he’s right.

Tim had his chance. Tim had it all, and he didn’t even realize it. He built Jason up into a demon because Tim needed something external to fight in his life, because his father was dead and Ra’s was far away, and Jason, big, boisterous, loud Jason was perfect for the role. And Tim didn’t realize he was like one of those huge dogs who bark up a storm, deafening everybody, but only because they are excited about possible belly rubs.

The problem is… now Tim wants it. _Wants it_ with a burning passion, but doesn’t know how to get it back. He doesn’t even know if it’s possible, but he wants it. He wants this soft, rumpled, gentle Jason with a longing so strong and vicious he can’t explain.

This is why he suggests spending time together, any time together. ‘Just to get used to each other’s presence’, but Tim knows better. He knows it has nothing to do with healing and everything to do with this want inside him that’s completely irrational.

Jason isn’t sold on it, of course he isn’t. Tim can see him hurting and he wants so much to just go over and soothe him and tell Jason it’s all right, he can love Tim again, they can cuddle watching movies and Jason could read in bed while Tim knitted, cats purring around them, but he knows it’s not that easy. He knows Jason is even more hurt than he is.

But when Jason thanks him for Chicken’s sweater, he knows he has at least one option to pursue. And that’s how Chicken starts receiving a lot more sweaters. (The damn thing sure loves the attention.)

Tim goes nuts. He makes the Batsuit first. It’s a hoot. Then comes the black sweater with the Red Hood insignia, and Tim can see Jason crack up at that, cuddling Chicken close and taking a photo.

The Robin suit is just as well received, albeit Tim gets scratched up when he tries to put on the green booties. That’s how he learns: sweaters are OK, but you don’t ever, ever touch the beans. Dick laughs at him later when he applies generous amounts of salve to Tim’s scratched _everything._

So obviously that’s when Tim fucks up.

He thinks it’s maybe time, after having watched several movies with Jason, that they get a little bit closer. So Tim sits down next to him, and predictably it’s a clusterfuck.

“I want him to _like_ me again!” He tells Mara while he flops down onto the couch. “I know it doesn’t work that way, that there is trauma and hurt and he was on suicide watch at one point, but I’ve seen the real him and I _want it.”_ He runs his hands over his face. “I wanted it to stop for so long, and then it did. But now I’ve seen him for who he really is, and he is _everything_ I want in a man _._ And it’s horrible of me, truly _awful,_ because I could have had it all, if I just saw him for what he was, and all this wouldn’t have happened, but I hurt him instead in terrible ways thinking the worst of him! And _now_ I want him!”

He turns over to face her.

She nods. “Tim. You are both still very much under the influence of this misunderstanding that had a _huge_ impact on your life. Neither of you are in the best position to start a relationship with anybody, let alone with each other, and from what you’ve told me, he still has a long road ahead of him to heal from this ordeal. I don’t see a good outcome for trying to start a relationship with him at this time of your lives.” She takes a deep breath. “My suggestion would be to wait a little, let him heal, let yourself heal, and see if he is willing to try again when you are on equal footing.”

Tim sighs. He knew she was going to say this. He knows that’s the only healthy option. That’s the only real option, if he respects Jason and his autonomy.

He resolves that he will.

***

The barn’s materials arrive before Jason can build up the confidence to draw Tim aside for a good long talk. He needs to set his boundaries and make Tim respect them, or he'll go mad.

It’s fine though. Tim reads the instructions and blueprints, keeping an eye on the animals while helping Alfred with the refreshments, while the others hammer happily away. Except for Damian, who is down on the ground among animals he can’t chase away (Disney princess. The kid is a frickin’ Disney princess.) while he tries to put the cages together.

It’s an uphill battle, because Billy the Goat is extremely glad to have something short (and easy) to climb, as well as loving the attention, and where Billy the goat goes, so do the dogs. The bunnies are at least more than happy to graze on the grass and wildflowers around Tim’s ankles, so they are safely out of the fray. The cats Jason isn’t sure of, but last time he saw them they were eyeing the cold cuts Alfred was folding into sandwiches. That one doesn’t bode well, but Alfred will eventually learn.

Bruce, Dick, and Jason are up on ladders trying to assemble the roof of the miniature barn they got for Batcow and Billy. It works, because Steph runs around and supplies them with the pieces. It’s almost surprising how well it works, given that their family dynamic is… unique.

Jason and Dick have foregone their shirts in the blazing sun. Jason is soaking it up like a sponge. He’s never been so happy to not be as white as a sheet like Timmy… Annnd fuck. He is happily awaiting the day his brain won’t bombard him with memories of his happy relationship only to dose him with gasoline and flick a match at him when the realization of _there was never a relationship_ hits.

He hits harder at the nails, trying to chase even the suggestion of unhappy thoughts out of his mind. This was his idea. He should be enjoying himself, being in his element. This is for the ragtag group of misfit animals in need of a home. He will be thinking happy thoughts, goddammit.

Bruce leaves when Damian finally gives up and yells for help. 

Jason looks over to see that Batcow has entered the fray, happily licking Damian’s hair. It’s funny enough that he has to grab the roof truss in order to not fall off his ladder. He thinks seeing Batman chase around a bunch of animals on a pasture while trying to dodge hidden poo and fallen hammers is going to be forever ingrained in his brain.

When Bruce eventually slips on a hidden landmine and falls face-first into grass they break for lunch. The sandwiches mostly arrive intact, the cats having amused themselves by stealing a few and making a massacre of them. Alfred also flicks them a few leftovers, which sate their hunger and they curl up on a sunny windowsill until Jason has to grab Chicken and bodily take him in before he gets a sunburn.

When he comes out Tim is gone and Bruce has commandeered the blueprints. Damian is organizing the cages with Dick’s help, so Jason goes back up on his ladder to hammer on the last few remaining boards. Steph stacks them up next to Jason for easy reach and goes over to play with Billy and Batcow, drawing away the animal horde’s attention from the boys and the cages.

It’s nice. Jason enjoys hammering. He’s warm out in the sun, so much so that he is working up a good sweat. He feels droplets running down his temple and he smooths his curling hair back. That’s when he spots something glittering from the trees from the other side of the barn, just outside the fence they put down to keep the animals in.

He combs his hair back again to give himself better cover to look closely. At first he feels his bunching shoulders droop in quiet relief when he sees it’s just Tim. For a second he expected some asshole paparazzi or Vicky Vale herself trying to get a peep at them, but it’s just Tim with his phone out, taking photos.

_Of Jason._

Shirtless. Sweaty and half-naked.

That’s when he loses it. He doesn’t remember how he got down to the ground, just that he stepped inside the still unfinished barn for cover, Damian giving him a weird look. He trots over with a squirming rabbit in one hand.

“Is everything all right, Todd?” he asks, and Jason is hit with surprise once again how mature Damian sounds now.

“Yeah…” he says quietly, staring down at the rabbit with the notched floppy ear, who’s trying to find out whether Damian’s shirt is edible. “Sorry, I just needed a moment.”

When he looks up at the kid, he finds him staring back at Jason with a look that makes him feel naked under a microscope.

“Is Drake bothering you?” Damian asks quietly as he looks down at the rabbit, freeing Jason from the power of his gaze for a moment before it turns back on him again. _Yikes._ “I saw him skulking around the bushes.”

Jason runs his fingers through his sweaty hair. Without the sun he is starting to cool down, and it’s… not a nice feeling. He feels the cold more now, and he hates it.

“I don’t know. I wanted to talk to him about things, but things… _other_ things got in the way…” he shivers. “All right, kid, I’ll just take ten. Guess I'm gonna have to sort this out now and then I’ll be back to hammering on the roof, all right?”

Damian nods. Jason wants to know when the kid grew up, because this is not the same Damian who threw a hissy fit about pretty much anything and everything. Kid’s shaping up to be the sanest and stablest of them all.

“Take all the time you need, Todd. I believe hammering a few nails in is something anybody from this family would be able to do, should you become suddenly unavailable.”

_Ouch._

Well, Jason thinks, Damian is still Damian. He gives the brat a well-deserved noogie. “You’re breaking my heart, kid.”

He runs off before the little gremlin can retaliate. He thinks about going the long way around to surprise Tim, but he is still stressed out about… well, the whole situation. He’s been stressed out and gone round the bend since this whole rape accusation happened, and he thinks he is allowed to feel just a little bit pissed now, because he has no fucking clue what Tim’s problem is.

So he takes the shortest route, stalking towards the young man and opting to hop the fence to get to where Tim is still standing. His phone is not in his hands anymore, his face is carefully blank when Jason gets a good look at him. That just sets Jason’s teeth on edge, and he is all ready to tear Tim a new one until he gets closer. Until he jumps the fence and Tim’s eyes turn _molten_.

He stumbles to a half, feeling suddenly off-kilter. He didn’t see what he saw, did he? Is he going mad now?

“Jesus, what the fuck, Tim?” is what he blurts out.

Tim’s face turns all kinds of red and he steps forward, just a single step that has Jason scrambling back thrice as much. Tim makes an aborted move to reach out for him and Jason wants to zip back to the animal kingdom to hide behind Bruce, because “what the fresh fuck?!”

Tim has the decency to look ashamed. He pulls back, his face closing off and his hands going around to hug his own body, like he is the one needing comfort and not Jason. Like he has any right to feel attacked!

Jesus Christ on a cracker!

“I’m sorry,” he tells Jason. And then he falls quiet and still, like that’s a good enough explanation, even in the face of Jason’s incredulous stare.

And Jason… he absolutely _loses it_.

One minute he is staring at Tim, the other he is pressing him up against the rough bark of a tree and Tim is staring up at him with naked desire that has Jason backing up like he’s been burnt.

“What the _fuck_?!” he growls. “Talk, goddamn you!”

Tim looks down. No. He _slides his eyes down Jason’s body_ in a way that feels like a physical caress that makes Jason feel uncomfortable. He scrambles to pull his shirt from there it’s half-tucked into his pants and pulls it on, needing a physical barrier against that fucking stare, because _what the fucking fuck?!_

“My psychologist doesn’t think you’re ready for it yet.” Tim says quietly.

“Ready for what?” he asks flatly.

“My… interest.”

_That fucking asshole!_

Jason steps back and swears. He swears a _lot._ He doesn’t think he can stop it, not until he runs out of breath and realizes he is crying. He turns away and punches into a tree. It takes it. His knuckles burst. He punches it again and again until Tim is there, pulling him away with Jason trying to shrug him off and also craving that touch so damn much, because no matter how much he tried to eat his feelings and cry it out and purge it, burn it out of his chest, it never took.

“I’m sorry,” Tim tells him quietly, when Jason refuses to move away and just stops, turning his back towards Tim.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Jason asks hoarsely. He hates that his body opens him up so much, makes him so easy to read. “Why _now?!”_

“I got to see the real you,” Tim tells him softly.

“Bullshit. You got to see the real me every day. I tried to watch movies with you. To cook for you. To spend some time with you in any way! Just a few minutes would have been nice! I was this close to beg for scraps of your fucking attention! But you thought I was a fucking rapist! So what now?! Is this some sort of sick power trip? _Now_ you want me, when I’m a nervous wreck?!”

He hears Tim shuffling around and he sees a pair of legs appearing in his vision.

“I know it sounds crass, but you’re not the only unstable member of our family. And we have a history of you trying to harm me, if not kill me.” Jason wants to snarl that no, it was the fucking pit, but Tim raises a hand to stop him. “Please. Just… let me. And then you can call me every name in the book and then some.”

Jason nods. Fine. All right, he can do that. Probably.

“I honestly… I didn’t understand why you would hurt me that way, because I knew you were the last person to ever try to rape someone. It was… disconcerting. I know it sounds impossible, but it has _nothing_ to do with you and _everything_ to do with me and my mind. I had multiple traumas from you beating me and hurting me while you were under the pit’s influence, and it... clouded my judgement. It was awful. I was awful to you and myself as well.” He stops and turns away for a second, and Jason looks up, just for a split second to see if Tim is being serious, but he is looking away, staring at the happy, fluffy white clouds over the barn, and Jason thinks…

He thinks a lot of things. Awful, angry thoughts, scary thoughts and also hopeful thoughts. The last ones get shoved back behind the unhappy thoughts. _Fuck_ Tim. And not in the happy way.

“I made you into a monster in my head because I always jump to the worst conclusions. It’s my defense mechanism. And you didn’t really give me the best impression when we met. Or the next time after that. Or… after. My mind is always in overdrive and I really wish I could have stopped it, I wish it every day, because when I saw you, when I finally saw you for who you really are, I learnt how very different you are from the monster in my head. And I realized I _do_ want you. Very much, in fact. But i don’t think that’s an option. Not now…” he sighs, and Jason can feel the weight of that sigh. “Or possibly never.”

Jason looks up, stunned at that.

“That’s the longest I heard you talk about anything. It’s probably more words you’ve ever spoken to me during…” he waves, trying to imply their ill-informed ‘relationship’. “That time.”

Tim nods and says “I’m sorry.”

Jason snarls and punches the tree again.

Tim jerks back, which just makes Jason feel even worse.

“So what do you want from me? Why the…” he tries to wave at Tim’s phone but fails at making sense. “What were you doing with your phone anyway?”

Tim goes red.

Jason turns off. He feels the spring breeze on his skin, can hear the soft shushing of the leaves and his shirt rubbing against his sweaty skin. He hears, from the distance, Damian arguing with Steph. But he can’t, for the life of him, make out what Tim is saying to him.

“Say it again,” he snaps, when he thinks he can listen and not murder the little creep.

“I thought you looked beautiful and I just wanted a picture.” Tim tells him and looks away, doing that body-hugging thing again. It pisses Jason off.

“What for.”

Tim gives him a look. A look scarily reminiscent of Jason staring at Alfred’s fine-bone china cups when the old butler first served him tea. He couldn’t even touch it until Alfred absolutely insisted. And even then he was afraid of crushing it into dust.

“You know what for.” Tim hedges.

Jason sighs. He turns around and leans against the tree and looks up at the fluffy white clouds. He wonders who is to blame for all this shit in his life. He hears as Tim shuffles over again to stand in front of him, having at least the decency to look Jason in the eyes.

“Let’s pretend all is peachy.” He looks at Tim, at his pink, blank face. “So what do you want from me?”

It takes a few tries. Tim’s pink, soft lips that Jason is familiar intimately open and close so many times, he thinks it’s a lost cause. He wrings his hands, looking down at them and back up, until finally he finds his voice.

“I want dates. I want to watch movies on the couch, cuddled under your blanket. I want to curl up with you and knit while you read. I want to cuddle you while you cuddle the cats. I want to watch you cook and eat whatever you want to feed me. I want to hug you and kiss you and I want to climb you like a tree!”

Jason wipes his face down, wincing when the drying blood pulls on his knuckles.

“So basically you want the same thing I wanted before all this” he waves his hand around, encompassing them all, “happened. That right?”

Tim nods.

“Jesus _Christ,_ Tim. Do you know how cruel this is?!”

Tim nods, all pale-faced and meek. “I know. But this is why I didn’t want to tell you yet, because I knew you were still…” he flops his hands around while Jason stares at him incredulously. “Healing.”

Well, doesn’t _that_ take the cake.

 _“Fuck._ No, actually, _fuck you_ . And not in the nice way. You’re a fucking asshole for doing this… _all_ this to me. _”_ He sighs. He sighs because he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do. “I don’t think _I’m_ sane enough for all of this. I don’t think, now more than even, that _you’re_ sane enough for this.” Boy, does he ever. “I think it’s a very, very bad idea.”

Jason used to think Tim was well on the road to recovery. That he was bounds and leaps ahead of Jason, that he was practically healed. Well, not so much now. No sane person would chase someone in Jason’s particular ‘delicate’ state. Or even try to date him, because apparently that’s what crazy Timmy now wants from him. 

_His_ crazy Timmy, because Jason has always been brutally honest with himself. Try as he might, he still hasn’t eaten every last scrap of his emotional attachment to this crazy ass bastard. Even though he tried really fucking hard.

So it’s still _his_ crazy Timmy, who nods, and says “I know,” while he draws closer.

The spring breeze ruffles Jason’s hair in the shade while Tim pushes up on his tippy-toes, his thin arms wrapping around Jason’s neck, and he kisses him, gentle like the soft rays of the sun peeking through the leaves, tasting of a hint of lemonade and sour cherries.

It feels like everything Jason ever hoped for, months and months ago, when he was willing to grovel and beg for scraps of Tim’s attention, and he starts to cry. The young man draws back, eyes big and blue against all that green as he pulls Jason with him, until they are turned around and Tim has him in his arms, Jason’s forehead pressing against his shoulders as he shakes with great sobs, letting it all out.

All his pain and grief and betrayal and abandonment. All he has been going through at the hands of this crazy, beautiful creature, who has Jason eating out of his hand, even if it means his own damnation. He cries and cries until he runs out of tears, but not feelings. He has more than enough to spare.

Throughout it all Tim holds him and kisses his temple, his hair, his ear and strokes his back until he is finally feeling like himself again. Himself, but somehow bigger. Better.

Tim offers him some tissues and Jason wipes his face, blows his nose and gives a tentative nod. “One date, all right?”

Tim smiles and nods so hard his hair goes flying and it grips Jason’s heart because _this!_ This is what he’s always wanted. He lets Tim burrow into his bulk, heedless of his own frailty, though Jason feels frail and scraped raw himself as well.

Well, aren’t they a pair?

He lets Tim lace their fingers together and bump against him as they slowly make their way back towards their family. They stop short when they see Bruce staring at them from the side of the barn. The boards have all disappeared, the ones Jason meant to hammer on.

When they get closer, Jason can see he’s frowning. He feels Tim’s fingers clenching down hard, as if he is afraid Jason would suddenly abandon him. Jason gives them a gentle squeeze and Tim eases up a bit.

When they stop in front of Bruce, he gives them both a serious look. Jason knows nothing escapes his scrutiny. Not his red, still puffy eyes, not the blood on his knuckles, nor the wet spot on Tim’s shirt.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” he asks them quietly. Gently. Jason can feel the worry pouring off of him in waves.

“Nah. But we will be taking this very slow. One date at a time.” Jason gives Tim a look, who nods eagerly back, his fingers going tight again.

Bruce sighs. Jason can feel the disapproval and worry warring in him with hope.

“You should talk about this in therapy.”

Ooooh, _zing._ But also, true.

Jason nods. Tim nods. Lots of nodding all around. 

Jason is sure this is not the end of the discussion before he pulls Tim past the barn, Bruce walking behind them ominously as they emerge into a mob of excited animals and frustrated humans.

***

The movie date goes thus: food is served by Alfred. The sandwiches look lovely. The cat threat has been defused with treats. Nothing alcoholic is allowed, but they have plenty of soda. Jason has commandeered two bottles, thwarting Bruce’s plans of timely interruptions offering refreshments and top-ups.

They have an absolutely ginormous tub of popcorn waiting on the table like some centerpiece. Jason leaves it there while he sits down on the couch and pulls the blanket over himself, enjoying the fluffy softness of it. He pulls up his Netflix account to try to find a movie (he hasn’t been able to pick one since last night) and is interrupted by Tim’s timely arrival.

Dick is standing in the doorway looking unsure and hesitant to leave them alone until Tim looks back at him and motions at him to scram: He leaves with a grimace and a huff. They can’t blame them, he’s been the most vocal one about this being a horrible plan.

Jason is pulling the edge of the up to let Tim in as he makes to sit down when Bruce’s head pops in. “The door is staying open,” he tells them sternly. “It’s non-negotiable.”

Tim looks at Jason, who looks back at them incredulously.

“Come on, old man. We’re not teenagers!”

Bruce frowns harder.

“It’s non-negotiable. If you close it, the date is over, and I’m personally calling both of your therapists.”

Jason sighs, having lost his momentum at that. “All right. But we’re just watching a movie,” he tries petulantly. Because he _knows_ Bruce is right.

“Good,” Bruce says in a voice that’s very reminiscent of Batman, and both Tim and Jason crack up.

“Awesome! Could you please hit the light switch on your way out?” Jason asks, fully recovered and happy again, because he has Tim now, but isn’t surprised when Bruce fails to do so.

Tim goes over and does it, sliding under the blanket and pasting himself against Jason in a sinuous move in the dark that has Jason’s mouth dry up faster than he could throw a birdarang.

But it’s nice. Jason picks Zombieland, because it’s campy and doesn’t require too much attention. And every time Tim laughs Jason can feel it, pressed together as they are. It’s good. It’s _great._

This is all he’s always wanted, and more.

They are warm, and Tim feels soft, but still very thin pressed against him. But they are cuddling, and occasionally Tim squirms a little bit closer, or grazes his thigh, and it feels like Jason is a teenager again, hyper aware of everything Tim does. It’s heady, scarily so, and Jason can’t remember the last time he felt this… this full of happy emotions of all sorts, all trying to bubble out of him in a bright laugh or lines and lines of Shakespeare. It’s… a lot.

When Tim squirms closer, his face mushed against Jason’s right pec, he doesn’t question it. He’s sprawled back, cozy with Tim halfway draped over his right side, and it’s fun. He has seen a face or two peering through the open doorway a few times, but not in the last hour or so, which is nice, because Tim’s warm weight feels awesome pressing him down.

He suddenly realizes there is more going on in Tim’s head when he feels a pressure against his stomach that resolves in soft, deft fingers that work themselves under the waistband of his pants and briefs and wriggle lower.

He isn’t proud of the squeak he lets out. Tim’s hand freezes when Dick pops his head in.

“Everything all right in there, guys?” he asks worriedly.

“Just jumpscares,” Tim tells him blithely, like his hand isn’t still down Jason’s pants.

_Jesus._

Dick withdraws a minute later and Tim gives Jason a mischievous grin. Jason is frozen. He can’t think. He watches as the lights dance on Tim’s face while his hand wriggles down down down enough to grab hold of Jason’s dick. He’s soft, but firming up fast, because holy handjob, Batman, Tim has gone mad!

Tim starts rubbing him up and down with a firm hold, and it’s amazing. Jason has to close his eyes, because it’s good. It’s really good. He hasn’t been able to to do it for months now, except for those sporadic, guilty touches in the shower, but even those were scarce and far between, more often than not ending in tortured sobs. That wasn’t fun.. But this is good.

It is, until Tim raises up on his knees to bite his earlobe and whisper “keep an eye on the door. If you see anybody, tap my back” before he folds himself down to pop his head under the blanket.

Jason’s brain is slow and stupid and only realizes what’s going on seconds before his cock is guided into Tim’s hot, hungry mouth and he has to muffle his groan with a hand. His mind is a mess. He stares at the bright square of the door, one hand against his mouth, the other resting gently on Tim’s back. It takes everything he has not to buck up into that mouth working him hard and fast, and he would whimper and moan, because it’s good, so good, but he _can’t._

It’s torture. He wants to look down, see that head bob under the blanket and on his cock. He wants to tangle his fingers in those black locks, but can’t. He wants to tell Tim how good it feels, how amazing it is, but he can’t make a single sound. Not even to warn Tim that he is so close, so very close to coming down that throat.

He resorts to muttering “oh shit it’s coming!” and Tim gets it, he must get it because he doubles down, relaxing his throat to suck Jason deeper and he hums. Jason’s gone. He bites down on his fingers as he comes down Tim’s throat, silent and strained, hips raising off the couch, with Tim holding on while he watches the empty doorway.

Sheer fucking luck.

When Tim licks him and tucks him back inside his pants, he whimpers. It’s not loud, but Tim’s head pops up and out from under the blanket. Still, the doorway is empty.

“Jesus,” Jason breathes. “What the _fuck,_ Tim?!”

Tim gives him a grin as he shrugs. He finger-combs his hair back to relative tameness and squirms against Jason’s side.

And Jason can _feel it_ . A ridge, an unrelenting digging against his side that must be _Tim_ . He must be going _crazy_ with it.

That’s why Jason sighs and works his hand inside Tim’s pants until he can wrap his hand around Tim’s cock and work it. It’s warm and moist, dribbling against his fingers as he pumps it, and Tim mewls against his neck before he latches on, sucking and biting at Jason’s tendon as he humps into Jason’s fist until he comes with a soft puff of breath and tiny, sharp little teeth biting into Jason’s flesh that will surely leave a mark.

Well, he thinks when Tim lets up and offers a pack of tissues and some wet wipes, so they can put themselves back together. As first dates go, this isn’t bad. And he’ll be happy to sport those marks, even if Bruce will call Bunny on his ass.

Setting boundaries, his ass!

Even though this was kind of his decision. One date, he said, and Tim has been adhering to it. Even if Jason would have preferred the sex to come later. But it was fun. It was… good?

They spend the rest of the movie cuddling on the couch, Jason sprawled diagonally, his head on the armrest with Tim laying over him, his slight weight pressing Jason down like a weighted blanket. They kiss and watch the movie in turn, and kiss again. It’s leisurely and fun, and Jason blinks owlishly up at the bright lights and at Bruce who stands near the door, frowning at them.

Jason raises his hands off of Tim’s waist, and Tim pushes up to a sitting position. Bruce gives them a deeper frown. Jason sits up and scoots away, wincing the moment Bruce’s eyes turn icy as they lock onto Tim’s teeth marks on his neck.

“Maybe you should wait with the next date until you see your therapists.”

Jason breathes out a sigh of relief, because Bruce isn’t being a dick about it. But he is right. They really should.

“Yeah, that’s actually a good idea,” he acquiesces.

He sees Tim nod in the periphery of his vision. Jason has a terrible hunch that Tim would be happy as can be just cuddling and snuggling at Jason and possibly doing more whenever he could get away with it, but he bites his tongue.

This is all he’s ever wanted, why ruin it now, right?

“All right,” Bruce nods, and he gives them a guarded smile. “Are you both ready for dinner then?”

Jason could eat. He looks over to Tim to eye his slight frame. Yup, Tim could eat, too.

He stands up and stretches. “I’ll go and freshen up. Where are my cats, by the way?”

Bruce gives him a grin. “Alfred has them occupied. Once they realized _he_ minds the fridge, they had no trouble abandoning you.”

“Awww. That’s cold!” He is secretly glad that they like Alfred, because everybody loves Alfred. His eyes trail from Bruce to Tim, who stands up himself and folds the blanket, and then he walks off with a small wave.

“Are you going to be all right?” Bruce asks him gently, once Tim is probably out of earshot.

Jason purses his lips.

“I won’t lie” he tells Bruce, because he’s earned that much, “and I won’t tell you yes. Because we both know that’d be crazy. But… this is all I’ve really wanted, and now he also wants it. And I think… I _hope_ he’s pretty far gone on me because if he isn’t, he’s gonna tear my heart out of my chest. But I want this. I do.”

Bruce clasps a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ve said a lot of things on the subject before, and I know you both wish I would let you do as you pleased, but I hope you understand why I can’t do that. Not yet, at least.”

Jason gives Bruce, his adoptive dad and veritable lifeline in the first weeks, a smile. It probably can’t show how fucking much he appreciates what Bruce is doing for him, for them, but perhaps a little goes through, because Bruce’s smile goes gentle and indulgent.

“I get it,” Jason tells him, and has to clear his throat as he’s gone hoarse. “I really, really appreciate all you’ve done for me, for us, old man.”

He’s pulled into a warm hug and he melts into it, pulling Bruce in harder.

“You’re my son, Jason. It’s the least I could do.”

And damn him if that doesn’t make him cry, just a little.

The dinner is a dream, like always, whenever Alfred cooks. The cats beg for scraps, even though Jason can see that they are stuffed full already. The mood is happy and hopeful, and Tim plays footsie with him under the table.

It’s good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon DC, give us some sane and healthy batfam. We need it!


End file.
